I Miss My Mind the Most
by lilacbush80
Summary: Last chapter is finally up! The last traces of risistance vanish. So that's it then, I say. I guess we all achieved our goals. You two found each other and I found the truth. So what happens now?
1. Default Chapter

I do not own the Teen Titans or Dr. Leslie Thompkins.

A/N: My Robin is going to be Richard "Dick" Grayson. His background worked better for my story. I tried to portray a mental institution to the best of my abilities, but, considering I've never been in one, I could only go with what I had seen on TV or read in books. If anyone has any ideas on how I can make it better, let me know!

I Miss My Mind the Most

"Good morning, Richard, and how are we feeling today?" a high feminine voice asked cheerily, awakening me from my sleep.

My eyes snapped open in alarm to find a woman I had never seen before standing over me. She had a sweet old-lady appearance: short and overweight; her once light blond hair, now turning grey, tied back in a bun; crow's feet around her hazel eyes that stood out because she smiled so much; glasses that hung around her neck by a gold chain; and a cheerful disposition. Rather than an old fashioned dress and apron, though, she wore white scrubs, like she was about to go in and operate on someone.

"Who are you?" I asked in a raspy voice. I attempted to sit up, only to find that my arms and legs were held down by leather restraints. My costume had been replaced by what looked like a hospital gown with, thankfully, pants underneath similar to the ones the lady was wearing.

"Silly boy," she said pleasantly as she opened the curtains to reveal the sun shining through a window with bars on the outside. "I'm Nurse Sheila, but most people here just call me Sheila."

"And where is 'here'?" I asked cautiously and looked around, trying not to panic. I was in a small room just big enough to fit the twin-sized bed I was strapped to and a dresser in the corner, leaving just enough room for one to walk about freely.

Everything was white: walls, tiled floor, bed sheets, curtains, even the dresser in the corner was white. It smelled of rubbing alcohol and something else, something medicinal, no doubt. There was only one white door on my left with a small window.

Sheila was looking at me oddly. "Is something wrong, Richard?" she asked kindly.

"Yeah...What the hell is going on?" I yelled.

Sheila crossed her arms and looked at me sternly. "Now, Richard," she scolded, "we'll have none of that. You know you're only to use your inside voice here at the mental institution."

My eyes widened and my mouth dropped open in horror. "I'm in a nut house?" I screeched as I began to struggle against the restraints.

"No, Richard. It's a mental institution," she said slowly and precisely, as if she were talking to a preschooler.

"Stop calling me Richard," I snarled as I continued to struggle.

"What would you have me call you, then?" she asked innocently as she opened the door and wheeled in a tray with some food on it.

I stopped struggling and thought I'd try another approach. "Look, there's obviously been some kind of mistake," I said with a slight laugh as she pushed a button under my bed that caused the upper half of the bed to rise. "I don't belong here." She undid the restraint on my right wrist, nodding politely as I spoke.

The second I was free, I grabbed the front of Sheila's shirt and pulled her down so she was eye level with me. She gave a small squeal and her eyes widened in surprise. "Now, you will listen to me," I hissed, tightening my grip. "I. Don't. Belong. Here." Suddenly, the door slammed open and two guys came running into the room.

At first glance, they looked more like they belonged on a football team than in a nut house. They were both well over six feet tall, very well built, and wore white scrubs similar to Sheila's. Aside from that, they were as different as night and day.

The one on the left had dark brown hair cut incredibly short and dark brown eyes to match. There was a large scar that ran from the outside of his right eye down to the right side of his mouth. His nose was crooked at the top, like it had been broken a few times. His expression was grim and I doubted that he smiled or laughed very often. He was definitely a fighter.

His partner, when compared to Brown Hair, looked more like a kid fresh out of high school. He had light blond hair cut short, but in a spiky kind of fashion, like he used too much hair gel. He had electric blue eyes that creeped me out just by looking at them. He was smiling in a way which made me think he should have been submitted to this place years ago.

I was able to get all this in about two seconds which was about how long it took before Brown Hair came around on my left and put me in a headlock, cutting off my air supply, while commanding me to let Sheila go and Blond Hair tried to pry my hand free of her shirt. Now, I may be stubborn, but I am not stupid. I knew I couldn't win. About five seconds after Brown Hair got his arm around my neck, I released Sheila, though he didn't let me go until Blond Hair had my right wrist restrained again. They backed away slowly, glaring at me the whole time, as if challenging me to try that again. I took in a few deep breaths and sneered at them.

"You okay, Sheila?" Brown Hair asked, in a deep authoritative voice. He turned his head in her direction, but he never took his eyes off me.

"Yes, I think so," she replied quietly while trying to straighten her shirt. "Thank you, Brandon." Brown Hair gave a slight nod. "Thank you, Benjamin." Blond Hair gave a slight nod. "You may wait out in the hall now while I give Richard his breakfast. I'll call if I need anything."

They began to leave slowly, though I guess Benjamin just had to have the last word. He whipped around and pointed his finger at me, a mad gleam in his eyes. "Try that again, Dick," he said in an annoying nasally voice, "and it'll be a whole lot worse." He slammed the door behind him.

I snickered. I guess that was, for lack of better words, a threat. His voice had made it somewhat comical. Sheila had a smile back on her face and brought the tray with food on it to the bed.

"I guess it's never a dull day here, hmm?" she said in her sickeningly sweet voice. "Now, since you can't seem to keep your hands to yourself, I guess I'm going to have to feed you."

"I'm not hungry," I mumbled, turning my head away from her.

"Oh, Richard, don't pout," she chided.

I sat there, seething with anger. "Just tell me one thing," I said dangerously. "Why am I here?"

"Because you're sick, honey," she said easily as she moved the tray away. "You have a delusional disorder. Dr. Thompkins will be by shortly so you can have your daily session with her."

I turned back quickly as Sheila was leaving the room. "Dr. Leslie Thompkins?" I asked in surprise.

"Of course, honey, unless you know another Dr. Thompkins." And she left with a small laugh.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I had to change Robin's (Dick's) past a bit so it would fit in better with my story and make him look delusional. After all, this is only fiction. Please review and let me know if it's good the way it is or if there are ways I can improve it.

I Miss My Mind the Most, Chapter 2

What is going on? I think angrily as I begin my fight with the restraints again.

"Good morning, Dick."

I stop struggling at the sound of a familiar voice. Looking up, I find Dr. Leslie Thompkins entering the room. It's been a while since I saw her last, but she looks just the same, smart and sophisticated in a navy blue skirt suit. I can't help but smile.

"Leslie, thank God you're here," I say in relief. "Get me out of here, okay?"

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Dick," she says in regret, holding the door open for Benjamin who is bringing in a chair. He sets it beside my bed and leaves. Leslie closes the door behind him.

"So, how have you been?" she asks as she slowly makes her way over to my bed.

I can hardly believe she just asked me that. "Oh, I'm just peachy," I reply sarcastically. "I wake to find myself in a nut house, strapped to a bed. I don't know how I got here. I don't know why I'm here. According to Nurse Perky, it's because of a delusional disorder. And how are you?"

She sits down, crossing her legs at the ankles, and opens the notebook she brought in with her, setting it on her lap. "So, it seems you've had a rather exciting morning then," she says and puts on a pair of glasses.

"What is going on, Leslie?" I ask desperately.

Her blue eyes are kind as she studies me for a moment. Rather than answering my question, she asks one of her own. "What's the last thing you remember, Dick?" she asks in a soft voice.

I have to think about that one as I look around. "I was at the Tower with the other Titans," I finally reply once I'm sure the room is secure. "We had just returned from a fight. It was pretty late, so I decided to go to bed. I said good night to the others and started to make my way to my room. The next thing I know, I'm waking up here. That's all I can remember. What does that have to do with what's going on?"

She writes something down in her notebook. The quiet, professional calm she exudes is almost frightening. "Tell me about your past, Dick," she says solemnly.

I was becoming irritated as she kept dodging my questions. "You already know about my past," I answer in exasperation.

She shrugs her shoulders slightly. "Humor me," she says casually.

"What's the point?" I ask angrily.

Various emotions play across her face, but they are too many for me to decipher clearly. "The point is," she finally says, sounding weary as she removes her glasses, "that the life you know has been nothing more than a delusion." I stare at her blankly. "A lie, Dick," she continues softly.

"I know what a delusion is," I snap. "I just don't believe you. I mean, how could my whole life be a lie?"

"Not your whole life," she corrects me. "Only since your parents were killed—"

"They were murdered," I interrupt her bitterly.

"—and you moved in with Bruce," she continues. "You were unable to cope with this loss at such a young age, especially since the authorities were unable to tell whether it was an accident or intentional."

"They were murdered," I repeat stubbornly as I glare at Leslie.

She sighs. "There are different ways to deal with loss. You chose to mourn at first, but this was not enough, was it?"

I shake my head slightly. "I knew who did it. I'd seen him earlier that day at the circus harassing the manager. I wanted to make sure he paid for what he did. But I was just a kid," I finish hatefully.

"You wanted vengeance," Leslie recounts. "You found someone to focus that anger on. Yet, as you said, you were only a child. You needed someone to fight for you, a hero, if you will, and who better than Bruce, the one who took you in during this time."

I stare at her, appalled. "Wait, wait. What are you saying? That Bruce isn't Batman?"

"What I'm saying is that there never was a Batman, that you merely created him by fashioning him after Bruce," she answers.

I continue to stare at her in disbelief. "No, you're wrong," I say in a slightly shaky voice. "Bruce is Batman. The Batcave is located beneath Wayne Manor. You've seen it. You've been in the Batcave." I begin to struggle against the restraints again, succeeding only in wearing myself out.

She writes something down in her notebook again and proceeds. "This was your first delusion. To most people, it would have only seemed like a child with an overactive imagination or one who had an imaginary friend. But it persisted, even as you grew older. You were having trouble keeping in touch with reality. Everyone was becoming concerned about you, especially when you made a costume for yourself and insisted that they call you Robin."

I stop my struggle and feel myself becoming panicky. "But I am Robin," I say urgently. "I mean, sometimes I'm Robin and sometimes I'm Dick. It's called a secret identity."

"Yet the purpose of a secret identity is to hide a person's identity so the actual identity is not known or suspected," she countered.

"Well, sure, a couple of people are bound to find out sooner or later," I say easily.

"No, Dick, not a couple. Everyone at your old school knew. Bruce sought the best professional help for you that money could buy. You were flown all over the world to see different doctors and psychiatrists. They tried various treatments and medications for you, yet nothing seemed to work, at least not for very long. We've even tried various medications for you here, but as you can see from your relapse today, we've had about as much luck as the professionals Bruce took you to see."

"How long have I been here?" I ask suspiciously.

"About three years now," she replies. "Bruce feared for your safety and those around you. He had you submitted here and visits as often as he can." She closes the notebook and rises slowly from the chair. "Now, I think it's time we go and see your friends."

"What friends?" I ask absently, trying to understand any of this.

"The other Teen Titans," she answers and calls in Benjamin to undo my restraints.


	3. Chapter 3

I Miss My Mind the Most, Chapter 3

"The other Titans are here?" I ask in disbelief as Benjamin and Brandon enter the room. Benjamin begins to undo the restraints on my legs while Brandon lingers at the door, a very unpleasant smile plastered on his face. He is holding a small paper cup that I become instantly wary of.

"That's right," Leslie says. "And as soon as you take your medications, we'll go and see them." She steps aside, allowing Brandon to get through.

"Open wide, Dickie," he says, thrusting the cup roughly towards me. I keep my mouth tightly closed and stare at him angrily. His smile broadens. "You want to do it the hard way, huh?" He looks to Benjamin and gives a nod. Having moved up on the other side of the bed, stone-faced Benjamin places his hand against my fingers and begins to push back slowly. The farther back he pushes, the more rapid my breathing becomes. I can feel my jaw begin to tremble so I grind my teeth together to keep from crying out.

"Please, Dick," Leslie pleads, "the pills are only to help keep you calm and relaxed. There's nothing in there that can hurt you, I swear." I turn my angry stare on her as the pain intensifies. "Why must you be so stubborn?" she says in frustration, turning away and facing the door.

Brandon leans in closer towards me. "You know, Dick," he says quietly, almost carelessly, "the head of the institution has granted us permission to help the patients in any way possible. Now if that means having to break every bone in the patient's body just to get him to take a few pills, well, you can bet that's what we're going to do. After all, bones heal, right?"

My eyes were beginning to tear up and I opened my mouth slightly, gasping from the pain. That's all it took. Benjamin immediately stopped what he was doing as Brandon shoved the pills in, placing one hand over my mouth and pinching my nose closed with the other.

"Now," Brandon continues, "you can either swallow these when you're conscious or when you lose consciousness from lack of air. Your choice. Just remember, you're putting off your little field trip with the good doctor here."

I can only stare at him, enraged that he was able to get this far. I begin to shake my head wildly but Benjamin puts a stop to that by grabbing my head on the sides. I stare at them for another moment and finally give in, knowing that I cannot win, and swallow the now slightly dissolved pills.

Brandon and Benjamin remove the restraints on my arms and leave Leslie and me alone. I only sit there in defeat, staring blankly at the wall. A tear slides down my cheek and I do nothing to stop it.

I hear Leslie sigh as she turns around and moves towards the bed. "I do hope we won't have to go through this everyday, Dick," she says softly. She pulls a tissue from her pocket and dabs at my cheek. "I only want to help you."

I turn my head slowly towards her. "You want to help me?" I whisper bitterly. "Then help me get out of here." I swat her hand away and work on getting up. It takes me a few tries before I'm able to stand on my own, indicating I've been in the bed longer than I thought. I move around, slowly and stiffly, staying close to the wall in case I stumble. After a few minutes, I feel comfortable and look to Leslie expectantly.

She opens the door and we step out into a long, grey hallway spotted with white doors on both sides. Most of the doors were open, allowing me to see inside the rooms as we move along. There are various odd people in them, none of which I recognize.

"Our first stop will be Kori Anders," Leslie says, stopping outside a closed door and turning to face me. "She came to us about a year after you. Her parents had been having some difficulty with their marriage. It wasn't so bad that they felt a divorce was necessary, but rather a separation: Kori would stay with her mother while her father stayed with some friends.

"One weekend, Mr. Anders came to visit, only to find little Kori alone. Mrs. Anders' car was still parked outside the house and only a few of her clothes were missing. It was reported to the police who believed that she had merely run off.

"Kori was unable to accept this as it made her feel that her mother did not want her or love her. Instead, she claimed that her mother had been taken by aliens. She started having dreams in which her mother would come, confessing that she had to return to her home planet and someday Kori would be able to join her. Over the years, Kori came to actually believe this story and thought she was really an alien. After her third attempt at trying to fly off the roof of their house, breaking her leg once more, Mr. Anders had her submitted here."

Leslie opens the door to reveal a young lady jumping on her bed. At first, I don't recognize her. She jumps off, landing about a foot away from me, allowing me a better view.

"Starfire?" I whisper confusedly as I enter. She looks so different, so normal. Her skin, normally more of an orange color, was now more pink. Her eyes are no longer entirely green, only the iris. Her hair is tied back in a loose braid and she is wearing a pink tank top with flowered capris.

"Good morning, Robin," she exclaims as she embraces me in a hug. It isn't her usual rib-breaking hug, just a normal one. "I have not seen you for quite some time now," she continues, releasing me and stepping back slightly. "How have you been?"

"Star?" I ask, still baffled by her appearance. "What is going on?"

She stares at me blankly for a moment. "I do not know," she responds. "I was unaware that something was going on. Should I be worried?"

I shake my head slightly. That definitely sounds like Star. "Star, do you know who the Teen Titans are?" I ask carefully.

Her face brightens. "Oh, yes," she says cheerfully. "They are a group of crime-fighters which include you, me, Cyborg, Raven, and Beast Boy."

I sigh in relief. "So you do remember."

"Of course," she says with a giggle. "You only speak of them every time I see you."

I look at her. "Wait a minute, you mean you don't remember being a Teen Titan?" I ask.

She gives me a questioning look. "Well, no. I thought they were only stories. We have been in here for many years now. There is no possible way that we could be crime-fighters. I thank you, though, for including me in all of your stories and giving me such great powers. It makes me wish that it were true. Would it not be great fun?"

"Yeah, fun," I say, feeling crestfallen as I move towards the door. "I gotta go now Star. It's been nice seeing you."

"I have enjoyed our gathering as well, Robin, and hope that you will return soon so that we may reminisce of this past event." She returns to her bed and begins jumping again, as though nothing has happened.

I leave, closing the door behind me. Leslie awaits me in the hallway. "I know it's hard, Dick—"

I interrupt her. "Don't say anything," I say quietly. "Just don't say anything." I stand there for a moment, trying to understand what just happened. "Let's go," I finally say and we continue our journey.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I do not own Delirium. She is from the Sandman Comics which are owned by Neil Gaiman. I just loved her as a character and thought she would do nicely in a mental institution. Review and let me know what you thought.

I Miss My Mind the Most, Chapter 4

"I don't think that we should go on," Leslie comments after a few minutes of silence. She stops in the middle of the hallway and turns back to me. "We can always visit your friends another day."

I step around her and keep walking. I don't need her, I think hatefully as I turn at the corner. I can hear her still talking as I continue on, but I pay no attention to her words. I can find the others on my own. They'll be able to explain what's going on.

A faint humming draws my attention away from my quest momentarily. I turn back to the room I had just passed. I could've sworn it was empty. Now I find an unusual girl residing inside.

She looks younger than I, perhaps having just become a teenager. The bed has been pushed against the wall and she lies on it so that her legs, crossed at the ankles, are propped against the wall and her head and arms hang off the side. Her bright orange hair, which looks like it has never been tamed, caresses the floor as she moves her head from side to side in time to her song. Her skin is deathly white, though she appears to be in good health physically. She wears a navy blue sweatshirt that's about three sizes too big for her and torn, footless fishnet stockings. What really draws my attention, though, are her eyes. They are two different colors: one a vivid emerald green with flecks of silver that appear to move, though I know this cannot be, and the other vein blue.

I take a step towards her. I feel that I know her, yet I'm positive that I've never seen her before today. She gives me a small, dreamy smile. Maybe I should say something, I think dazedly as I continue to stare at her.

She stops her humming now and looks at me as though noticing me for the first time. "Do you know what the word for being confused and happy at the same time is?" she asks innocently.

I raise my eyebrows and blink in surprise. "I-I don't know," I stutter. "I don't know if there even is one."

"Oh," she says, a note of sadness entering her voice. "I thought maybe you would know. Nobody else seems to know either. You know, I'm getting really dizzy sitting like this."

I can't help but grin at her last remark. "Maybe you shouldn't sit like that then," I respond as I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms over my chest. "It's just a thought."

Her face brightens immensely. "It's a really good thought," she says excitedly. She begins to wriggle around in an attempt to sit up. "I don't get many of those anymore. Good thoughts, that is. Not that I have bad thoughts, like killing and stuff, at least, not a lot. It's just that I'll get one idea but it'll change into another idea before I have a chance to remember it because something distracted me. Like a doggie. I have a doggie back home, but he didn't want to come with me here. He says he doesn't like these kinds of places. Do you like doggies? It's okay if you don't, but it's even better if you do." By now she had gotten into a sitting position and was looking at me expectantly.

"Dogs are nice," I say lamely.

She begins to clap her hands. "That's wonderful," she says delightedly. "Now we must jump up and down and sing the happy song."

"How about another time?" I ask, feeling unsure of myself. "So, what's your name? What are you in for?"

She thinks about this for a moment, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "Well, my family calls me Del," she responds carefully. "At least, sometimes they do, so I guess you can call me that, too. It's not my real name, not all of it, anyway, but my name keeps changing, so I guess Del is as good as anything. Except chocolate. And cherries. I really like cherries. Did you know that some cherries told me I'm going to be a kangaroo when I grow up? That sounds really neat. What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"Probably a policeman," I answer easily. "You know, something involving law enforcement. You didn't tell me why you're in here."

"Oh, I'm just visiting," she says, twirling a lock of hair around her fingers. "Um, I can't remember who I was supposed to be visiting, so I guess you'll do. Are you happy, Dick?"

"No, this—Wait, how did you know my name?" I ask in bewilderment.

"Wasn't I supposed to know your name?" She looks around the room as though she has lost something. "Do you know where all the colors went?"

"Stop changing the subject," I say in frustration. "How did you know my name?"

She furrowed her brow. "Because I know you," she says, "just as you know me."

"But I've never met you before. Have I?" I finish doubtfully.

"Everyone's met me at one time or another," she replies. "It's just that they don't always choose to remember me. Which makes me sad and I don't like to be sad. I can tell that you're sad right now. Do you like being sad? It's okay if you do. Or if you don't. Like being sad, that is."

A chill goes down my spine. "Who are you?" I whisper. I'm not sure I really want to know, yet I stand there awaiting her answer.

"You'll find out," she says seriously. Her eyes appear to both be green for a moment, but after I blink, they look different again. She leans back on the bed, the dreamy smile having returned, and continues humming.

I turn around and step back into the hall. I hear the clicking of heels approaching quickly and turn to find that it's Leslie. "Where have you been, Dick?" she says, slightly winded.

"I was just talking to—" I begin and turn back to the room only to find that it's empty. There is no one inside nor signs that anyone had ever been inside. "—no one," I finish confusedly.

"Well, I'm glad I found you," she continues. "I've been thinking, and I don't think it's a good idea for you to see your friends today—" I open my mouth to protest but she stops me by putting her hand over my mouth "—but I also think that it's a bad idea for you to be wandering around here on your own. There are so many things that can go wrong, I decided to stop thinking about it and just find you. So," she took her hand off my mouth, "shall we continue with the tour?"

"Let's go," I say, glancing behind me once last time before following Leslie.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Once again, I had to change the past of one of the characters. It fit in better with my story. Review and let me know what you thought!

I Miss My Mind the Most, Chapter 5

"Next on our tour will be Victor Stone," Leslie says. She turns to me. "You may know him better as Cyborg."

She has stopped outside a room with a closed door. All the other rooms we have passed so far have only had doors that allow those passing by to see inside. This room has a large window next to the door. "What's up with the window?" I ask.

"It's not really a window," Leslie confesses. "It's a two-way mirror. You see, Victor suffers from severe depression. He has tried many attempts at suicide since before his arrival at the institute and after. The mirror was installed shortly after so that the nurses could keep a better eye on him."

I cautiously look inside. A young, dark skinned man sits on a bed. He appears to be slightly older than I. His clothes are similar to mine except they are light blue. There are many scars on the visible parts of his body and a large bandage covers his left wrist. There's something odd about his right arm. I then realize that it's not his real arm, but that from the elbow to the tips of his fingers it is an artificial arm. He continuously pokes it with his left hand as though trying to make sure that it is really there.

"How did that happen?" I ask.

"That is a long story. Victor was once a remarkable young athlete," Leslie begins. "At the end of his freshman year, he had already lettered in football, basketball, and baseball. His grades ranked in the top ten percent of his class. Life was very good for young Victor.

"But that summer, after having received his learner's permit, he was in an accident. A truck driver had fallen asleep behind the wheel. The truck hit Victor's car on the passenger side where his mother was sitting. She was killed instantly.

"After a rescue team worked for an hour to free Victor from the damaged car, he was rushed to the hospital. He had suffered severe blood loss due to lacerations on the head and right arm. There was other damage as well, but I won't go into it as it is very unpleasant to speak of. By the time he got to the hospital, the arm was beyond saving. It was amputated that very night.

"It was a long and hard road to recovery. Victor had to spend six months in the hospital. He had to miss his mother's funeral because the doctors felt it was unsafe for him to leave.

"He was fitted with a new arm, the one you see there. It's an electric powered arm which requires very little body movement in order to function. He went through a short period of training to enable him to use the artificial limb more efficiently. It only needs to be removed when he's around a lot of water and at night when he sleeps so that the batteries inside may recharge.

"Victor returned to school shortly after being released from the hospital. His father felt it would be better for Victor to just skip the school year. He was already four months behind the rest of his classmates, after all. But Victor refused.

"At first, he seemed to be doing rather well. He was still able to do many of the same two handed things he used to. On the outside he seemed quite happy.

"But it was only an act. His old life had been taken from him. His mother was gone. He could no longer play the sports he had enjoyed so greatly. A couple months after his release, the depression began.

"He stopped spending time with his friends. His grades began to slip. He was barely eating. He was barely sleeping. He only came out of his room for school where he would sleep through most of his classes.

"His father knew something was wrong. He encouraged Victor to try other sports that didn't require the use of hands, such as track or soccer or to join after school clubs. Victor wouldn't. After taking Victor to the hospital because of his first attempt at suicide, his father knew it was time to seek professional help.

"He tried group therapy. He tried psychiatrists. He tried antidepressants. Nothing seemed to work for long. Finally, Victor was brought to us about a year ago. We've been trying to help him ever since."

I just stand there, staring at him. This couldn't be Cyborg. Cyborg loved video games, buffing his car, and jacking up the technology in our Tower.

He looks up at me then. If what Leslie said was true, he couldn't see me. His life had been hard. It was in his brown eyes that the damage was most clearly recorded. There was nothing in them—no emotion, no thought—the worst of all things.

"Would you like to go in?" Leslie asks quietly.

I nod my head and slowly open the door. Victor has gone back to poking his arm. I linger in the doorway, feeling slightly awkward and unsure of what to say.

"Hey Robin," he says. "Or is it Dick today?" He sounds like Cyborg, only more tired, like he had just woken up.

I clear my throat and come closer. "You can call me Robin or Dick," I respond. I take in the surroundings. It is like the room I had woken up in, only everything is light blue and there is a large mirror on the wall on Victor's left.

"So, how long were you standing out there?" he asks tonelessly.

I raise my eyebrows and blink. "How did you know I was out there?" I ask.

He smiles faintly and lowers his head, bringing his left hand up to his face. "I had an accident as a child," he says. He raises his head and looks at me, except his left eye is closed now. He holds out his left hand and I can see his eyeball resting in the palm. "This is why you shouldn't run with scissors.

"Doctors wanted to give me a glass eye. Pop's a scientist. He knew he could make me a better one. This baby allows me to see a lot more than normal people." He lowers his head again and puts it back in. When he lifts his head, both eyes are open this time. It looks so normal that, had he not shown me, I would have never known.

"Of course, you already knew about that," Victor says and returns to poking his artificial arm. "You got amnesia? Or are you going through denial again?"

I look at him curiously. "Again?" I ask in disbelief. "Dude, I've never been here before. I—"

"—don't belong here," he finishes for me. "Yeah, I know. Everyone in this place knows. You been saying that since the day you got here. When are you going to accept it? You're stuck here, just like the rest of us."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Never," I say bitterly. "I came here to ask you a question and then I'll leave. Do you know who the Teen Titans are?"

"Yeah," he says carelessly. "That group you keep talking about. Where you inserted yourself and some people from around here and made them the heroes. If you ever get out of here, you should think of becoming a writer. Some of them stories are really good."

I turn then and leave, closing the door behind me. Leslie is waiting in the hall for me. "Do you still want to continue?" she asks cautiously.

I can only nod my head. She sighs and begins walking. I trail slightly behind.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long, but the hard drive on my computer chose to crash on me. It took me two weeks to get a new one in the mail and have my brainy brother install it. The good news is that this chapter is twice as long as any of my other chapters. Thanks to all who have reviewed my story so far! They've all been good so far, so I must be doing something right. Hope you enjoy! Don't forget to review!

I Miss My Mind the Most, Chapter 6

"So, did you know about Victor's eye?" I ask Leslie as we turn a corner.

A shadow of annoyance crosses her face. "Unfortunately," she responds with a slight edge to her voice, "not until after we had the mirror installed. I was aware of Victor's...condition

...long before his arrival here. I had a few sessions with him, but found him to be very distant. He would refuse to open up to me.

"One night, an idea came to me to have a two-way mirror installed so that I could observe him without his knowing that I was present. You see, Victor was my first patient with severe depression. I had many resources to aid me with helping him, yet I wanted to help him as a person rather than a patient.

"I would sit out in the hall for a couple of hours every day, watching him and trying to figure out what I could do for him. But he never did anything except sit on the bed and stare at the mirror. It was like he could see me. I didn't realize at the time that he really was watching me."

We walk in silence for a few moments. "How did you figure it out then?" I ask in a mildly interested voice. I always liked mysteries.

She stops as the beginning of a smile tips the corners of her mouth and she looks at me out of the corner of her eye. "Accidentally," she says with a trace of laughter in her voice. "I walked by his room one day and saw him throwing it. He was facing the wall so that all I could see was his left side. From my perspective, it appeared that he was throwing a ball and catching it incredibly accurately with his eyes closed.

"I rushed into the room, this having been the first time I had seen him do almost anything since he had come to be here, eager to question him. He was caught off guard by my sudden entrance and rose from his seat as if propelled by an explosive force, turning to face me and allowing his 'toy' to fall to the floor.

"It rolled over, stopping by my feet. I picked it up so that I might allow myself a closer look only to drop it a moment later from shock after having realized what it really was. Victor seemed to find great amusement in this as he sauntered over, one corner of his mouth pulled into a slight smile. He retrieved the eye, brushed it off, and popped it back in, his smile broadening as I stared blankly with my mouth open." She chuckles with the memory but stops after a moment when she realizes I fail to see the humor in this. She clears her throat and we begin walking again. "I guess you had to be there," she mumbles.

I give her a bland, half-smile and decide it's time to change the subject. "So, who's next on our list?" I ask. I can hear the tiredness in my voice and Leslie gives me a look to let me know she hears it as well. In a defensive gesture, I fold my arms across my chest, looking only straight ahead.

"How about Raven?" she asks tentatively as if testing the idea.

There is a falter in my step as I drop my arms back to my sides. Raven. Her name lingers around the edges of my mind. A tingling has begun in the pit of my stomach and a small smile of enchantment touches my lips.

"Dick?" Leslie asks in a voice that seems to come from a long way off. "Dick! I said do you want to go and see Raven?"

I turn my head to her slowly, staring blankly as I try to find my voice. "Sure," I finally answer, unable to go above a whisper. I begin chewing my lower lip nervously.

According to Leslie, all the memories I have of anything involving the Teen Titans is a delusion. Yet I can't deny the spark of excitement at the prospect of seeing Raven. It feels like I'm swimming through a haze of feelings and desires that shouldn't even exist.

"So, aside from the whole Slade thing, how was your birthday?" I ask Raven as I rinse out an ice cream bowl.

It was actually the morning after Raven's birthday. The others had already gone to bed after having thrown a small party for Raven. I was too wound up from the events of the previous day and decided to put myself to good use cleaning up. Apparently Raven had the same idea.

She smiles, thinking about it as she dries the clean dishes. "It was—interesting," she responds quietly. The smile leaves and a look of tired sadness passes over her features.

Unsure of what to say, I look on in concern, the dishes forgotten. I know that something big has happened, something that has Raven terrified. She glances at me for only a moment, yet I can still see the fear, stark and vivid, glittering in her eyes.

I reach out, wrapping an arm around her waist, and draw her slowly towards me. She turns so that we are facing each other, yet she refuses to look at me. Bringing up the other arm, I tilt her chin up, allowing me to see the tears gliding down her cheeks. She shakes her head slightly and fiercely wipes at her slightly flushed cheeks.

"It's okay," I whisper gently, wrapping my other arm around to rest in the hollow of her back.

Her head is bowed again, her body slumped in despair. She is trying to keep her fragile control, but it is a losing battle. "It'll never be okay," she says dejectedly, leaning her head back and gazing into my eyes. "I'll never be able to stop thinking about him. He'll keep coming after me."

"Slade?" I ask confusedly.

She doesn't answer. Instead, she puts her arms around my neck and lightly kisses my mouth. Before I have a chance to respond, she's finished and begins to pull away from me.

Feeling a need for more, I pull her back to me, almost roughly, and I press my lips to hers. She arches her back, moving her mouth so that our faces are tilted sideways, allowing the kiss to deepen. She parts her lips and lets my tongue wander around the inside of her mouth, brushing against her teeth and teasing her tongue. She responds by moving her own tongue against the length of mine and closes her lips over it. I draw back slowly, opening my eyes to find hers closed.

After a moment of standing there, lost in the moment, her eyes flutter open. "What's wrong?" she asks, slightly dazed.

"Nothing," I respond, my mouth curving into an unconscious smile. "Everything is okay."

Her brow furrows in confusion, but then, with a slow, secret smile, she understands.

I am pulled from my reverie by Leslie's voice. Apparently, she has been talking for some time now. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts and focus on what she is saying.

"...sees it more as a curse. Members of her family have had it for many generations now, though it was not properly diagnosed until her grandfather's time. Before that, doctors were unable to submit the correct treatment—"

I interrupt her. "Treatment for what?"

She stops walking and transfers her gaze to me, two deep lines of worry appearing between her eyes. "Treatment for Raven's condition of course. Were you not listening to me a moment ago?"

"No," I answer, slightly embarrassed. "Sorry."

She looks at me for a long moment without saying anything. With a slight nod, she continues speaking, though we don't leave this spot. "Raven was diagnosed with this about two years ago. As I was saying, her family is well-known for having the symptoms of schizophrenia: delusions, hallucinations, disorganized behavior, disorganized speech, and/or negative symptoms, such as social withdrawal or emotional unresponsiveness.

"Her father was submitted to a mental institution when Raven was still a baby. He claimed the devil communicated with him frequently and that he was the demon Trigon. He resides there to this day.

"Arella, her mother, claimed to hear the voice of her aunt who had died ten years earlier. Apparently, the aunt had died at the hands of government officials because she refused to give up her chocolate chip cookie recipe, or so Arella said. She believed that she was constantly being watched and followed since she was the only living person to know this recipe. Finally, she took her life one afternoon while Raven was at a friend's house. She left a note behind saying that she would rather die than give up that recipe.

"Raven went to live with her grandfather after her mother's death and was raised in a healthy, happy environment. She had a very active life that included participating in school plays and after school clubs. She spent as much time as she could with her many friends and was still able to keep her grades above normal.

"Then she gradually began to change. Rather than staying after school for activities, she started to come right home and lock herself in her room. She hardly ever came out, even for meals, and her grandfather began to worry. At first, he figured it was some phase that his teenage granddaughter was going through and that she would grow out of it in time.

"But it continued. It was like she was becoming a whole different person. She wouldn't even acknowledge her last name. She would only wear black and purple clothing. She was always alone. When she spoke, it was like there was no emotion in her voice.

"One day while she was at school, her grandfather discovered in Raven's room a bloody washcloth with an old razor blade tucked inside. He confronted Raven about this and she explained to him very calmly that her father had been telling her to do this. By cutting herself, she was able to determine whether she was a demon or not. If the blood came out red, then she was a demon.

"Raven was taken to a psychiatrist and placed on medication immediately. When that didn't work, they tried another medication and another. Finally, feeling that he had failed her, her grandfather brought her here. We've been helping her ever since. Raven's room is right behind you."

There's a terrible tenseness in my body as I turn and walk stiffly towards Raven's closed door. My mind is a crazy mixture of hope and fear: hope that she'll remember as I do and fear that she won't. I turn the knob slowly and peer inside as the door opens.

The room is like the one I awoke in only smaller. Piles of books lie scattered on the floor. The only furniture in the room is the bed. And sitting on the bed is Raven.

At least, she looks like Raven...with a few changes. Her costume has been replaced with clothes like mine. Her hair has grown and is now black, the black of a starless night. Her skin is paler and she's thinner than I remember. She continues to sit there, hugging her knees to her chest, taking no notice of me.

After a few moments, she turns her head towards me. Her amethyst eyes are flat and unreadable. "You can come in if you want," she says quietly.

I make my way over to the bed and sit on the end, turning slightly so that I can face her. We sit there in silence as I try to figure out what to ask her first. Raven beats me to it.

"What do you want?" she asks in her familiar monotone voice.

I look at her a moment longer before asking, "Do you know who the Teen Titans are?"

She tilts her head up as though she is thinking. "Yes," she responds after a moment, turning her gaze back to me. "They are that made-up group that you speak of a lot." She lowers her legs so that they are now crossed in front of her and rests her hands in her lap. "Is that all?"

"That's all you know?" I ask in slight irritation. She stares at me, wordlessly. I close my eyes and sigh heavily. "Just one more thing," I say, hearing the pain in my voice. "Did you and I ever...um...ever have...a...relationship?"

She lowers her head and begins to draw an invisible pattern on her pant-leg. "Yes," she whispers, "but that was a very long time ago. Good-bye, Robin."

I feel like I just lost a fight. I stand and leave slowly. Having reached the door, I look back. "Good-bye, Raven," I whisper, and close the door behind me.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Well, I finally finished another chapter of this story. Sorry it took me so long, but I started working on some other stories and kept putting this one off. Now I'm going to try and focus my attention on this one until it's finished. Or until I run out of ideas. Whichever comes first. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far! More reviews mean more chapters faster! Enjoy!

I Miss My Mind the Most, Chapter 7

"So, what's Beast Boy's story?" I ask Leslie wearily as we continue to walk down this seemingly never-ending hallway.

She veers to a chair set up outside an empty room and sits down slowly with a sigh. "Perhaps it's time for a small break," she suggests as she pulls a small bottle from her jacket pocket.

"What's that for?" I ask suspiciously as she removes two pills from the bottle.

She gives me a small smile. "Don't worry, Dick," she assures me with a wink. "These are for me. Keeps these old bones going." She tosses them in her mouth and swallows as she returns the bottle to her pocket.

I am feeling impatient and begin to pace. The sooner we get moving, the sooner this "tour" will end. Dr. Thompkins has other plans, though.

"What's wrong, Dick?" she asks quietly.

I stop pacing and look at her as though she has just sprouted another head. "What's wrong?" I ask in amazement. "This nightmare won't end!"

"What makes you say that?" she inquires.

"None of this is real," I yell, punching my fist against the wall. "How can it be? Why don't I remember any of this?"

"Dick, you need to calm down," Leslie says soothingly, raising her hands in a stopping motion.

"I am calm," I seethe. "God, I am so calm." I begin pacing again.

"This is not the life you have created for yourself," she explains. "This is reality. A part of you wants to accept this and move on to better things. Acceptance is a big step to your recovery. Won't you accept?"

"No," I mumble. "I don't believe you."

She sighs. "Stubborn as always. That is why you are here and may still be here for a very long time."

"Can we just get on with this?" I ask harshly.

"Very well." Leslie slowly rises and we begin walking again. "Garfield Logan, or Beast Boy, as you've come to call him, has only been with us for about three months. He has a personality disorder and believes himself to be an animal of some sort most of the time he's been here."

I can't help but laugh scornfully. "No way," I say. "That's the craziest thing I've ever heard."

"Is it any crazier than your disorder?" she asks. I can feel my lip curl in anger but she continues before I can say anything. "Garfield's parents disappeared when he was very young. A distress call had been received that the small plane they had been flying over Lake Michigan one mid-winter night was going down fast. By the time the Coast Guard arrived, there was no sign of them or their plane.

"Rescue teams were sent out in search of them, but were only successful in locating the plane about five miles from shore. It was believed that the Logans attempted to swim to shore, but the water was far too cold for anyone to have survived more than a half hour. They were presumed dead.

"Garfield, having no other family, was left in the custody of a couple who had been friends of the family. They had no children of their own and spent much of their time focusing on their careers. The husband was an architect, the wife a veterinarian. They were able to take care of Garfield financially, giving him anything and everything his heart desired.

"Yet they failed in the other aspects of raising a child. Instead of loving him as a son, they treated him emotionally as a pet. They would spend perhaps an hour a day with him and go back to their jobs. Outside help was hired to raise him and take care of him, but it was not enough.

"Garfield felt alone and neglected. He had no friends, no parents, no one to love him. He was constantly depressed, and when the parents were notified of this by teachers, they tried to spend more time with Garfield, but it was too little, too late.

"He began to act like various animals, barking in class when he was called on to give an answer, hopping around instead of walking, growling and biting children who teased him, and much more. He was taken out of school for the safety of the other children and was brought to us after years of failed psychiatry and medication. His adoptive parents are now required by court to have counsel on improving their child-rearing abilities for when Garfield is healthy enough to leave here."

We have come to a stop in front of another closed door. "This room?" I ask simply. Leslie nods and I begin to go in when she stops me.

"Dick, wait," she says. I look back to see her holding out what looks to be small pieces of candy. I look at her in confusion. "Sometimes he needs to be persuaded to speak like a person," she explains. I shake my head slightly, take the candy, and walk into the room, closing the door behind me.

The room is small, like the others, and painted a pale green. A bed is set up in the middle of the room, but it is missing the mattress. I locate it a moment later in the corner with a boy who looks nothing like Beast Boy curled up like a dog on top of it.

He is young, perhaps having just turned thirteen. His clothes are like mine, only green. His blond hair is cut in the fashion of Beast Boy's, short and spiky. He begins to wake up, stretches like a cat, and looks at me through sleepy, emerald eyes.

He gives a short, happy bark, and sits up like a dog, shaking his behind slightly like he has a tail. I stare at him uncertainly and stay near the door in case I need to make a hasty retreat. He begins to pant and a thin line of drool runs down his white chin.

"Garfield?" I ask cautiously. He gives another bark and nods his head. He starts to make his way over to me on all fours. "Stay," I command and am surprised to find that he actually does. I remember the candy in my hand and toss him a piece, hoping he'll catch it. He watches it fall to the floor in front of him, sniffs it once, and licks it up, chewing it happily.

One corner of my mouth goes up in a slight smile. Now I'd seen everything. "Okay," I say slowly, "speak." I toss another piece of candy which he catches in his mouth in mid-air.

"Hey, Robin," he says. He sounds like Beast Boy, but I'm still incredibly skeptical. "What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

"Just visiting," I respond. I keep looking for any familiar signs. "So, Garfield—"

"Dude, what happened to Beast Boy?" he complains. "I liked it when you called me that. It sounded cool. Like something the chicks would love."

That definitely sounded like Beast Boy. "Okay, Beast Boy," I begin, "what do you know about the Teen Titans?"

"Ooh," he squeals, "is this another Titans story?"

I sigh. It's not like I was expecting anything less. I make up a lame excuse to get out of there fast. "Look...Beast Boy...I just remembered something I have to do." I toss him the rest of the candy and open the door.

"Sure thing, Robin," he says between mouthfuls. "I'll see you later. We can play video games or something."

I step out and close the door behind me, seeing Leslie out of the corner of my eye. "Now what do I do?" I mumble, closing my eyes and leaning my head against the closed door.

"That, Dick," Leslie says, moving in close and laying a hand on my shoulder, "is totally up to you. As I said earlier, you can embrace reality or you can keep living the lie. The choice is yours and yours alone." She gives me a light pat and slowly walks away.


	8. Chapter 8

I Miss My Mind the Most, Chapter 8

"Do you want me to sing you a song?" a familiar voice asks.

I look up to find the girl I talked to earlier, the one who claimed she was only visiting. She's changed. Her hair is no longer merely orange, but every color of the rainbow. She's traded in the oversized sweatshirt for a red and white polka dotted dress that looks like something out of a cartoon with her torn fishnet stockings peaking out from beneath the skirt. A faded denim jacket that's missing a sleeve completes the odd ensemble. But what really grabs my attention are the multicolored fish that swim around her head. I rub my eyes, thinking I must be dreaming, but they don't go away.

"There's this song that starts with 'Twinkle, twinkle' that I really like," she continues. "I know there's more words, but I can't remember them, so I just sing 'Twinkle, twinkle' over and over again. Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle. Wrinkle's good, too. For a word. I saw this doggie once that wasn't my doggie and he was covered in wrinkles but he wasn't old like those people in that other place I sometimes visit. He looked really funny. The doggie. I was going to iron him when I saw this cloud that looked like...um...a cloud. Do you know where my doggie is?"

I stand there in silence, staring at her, as I try to register what she just said. "Huh?" is all I can come up with. Flowers that look like they were drawn by a child sprout up around her. They begin to spin and fly around like tiny helicopters.

"Do you know where my doggie is?" she repeats. "I thought I left him at home, but I didn't. Maybe I lost him. Or maybe he lost me. I looked in the last place because that's where lost things usually go, but since it was the first place, he wasn't there. So..." She looks around, following one of the flower-copters for a few seconds. "...um, what was I saying?"

"You lost your dog?" I supply.

"Oh, yes," she says happily. "He's a really good dog. He's brown and black and uses really big words that I sometimes don't understand. I'm trying to find him so since I had already looked in the last place, I tried the first, the second, the third, the fourth, until I got to the eleventy-sixteenth when I remembered you cause you used to be real good at finding stuff. And that's what I need. A good finder. Like you. Cause I'm not one. So will you help me?"

I had barely been listening, allowing her to ramble, but those last few lines startle me. My mind reels with confusion. "What did you say?" I ask, searching for the meaning behind her words.

She looks at me, puzzled. "Well," she says as though it should be obvious, "since I keep losing him, I must be better at losing things than finding them. Like once, I lost some time—"

"No, no," I interrupt. "What did you mean I used to be good at finding things? What kind of things?"

"I don't know," she says in a bored voice. She begins to blow bubbles with her spit. They leave her mouth and take on the forms of cats and dogs that chase each other. I can actually hear them barking and hissing.

"My doggie's not here," she says suddenly. "Let's look somewhere else." She turns and begins to walk away.

I feel compelled to follow her, though why I do not know. Part of me believes that she knows more than she's telling me. I catch up with her easily, wanting to continue our conversation, only to stop a moment later when we reach a pair of doors. And standing in front of the doors are Brandon and Benjamin.

"Hey, Dickie," Brandon leers, "who's your girlfriend?"

I glare at him, feeling my temper flare, and open my mouth to protest his choice words but Del beats me to it. "I'm not his girlfriend," she says indignantly. "I'm Del. At least, that's part of my name. You can call me that. Del. If you want to. Or not. Who are you?"

"That's none of your business, girlie," Brandon says rudely.

"You know, you're not very nice," she says. She sounds annoyed and for some reason, this scares me. "There was this one man," she continues, "who wasn't nice to me, so I made him have lots of invisible insects all over him. Lots. And lots. And lots. Forever and always and ever. I didn't have to do it. But he made me sad. He called me a bad driver. I'm a really good driver, you know. Would you like to see me drive?"

"Whatever, sweetie," Brandon jeers. He looks at me and gives a wink. "Feisty little girlfriend you got there, Dickie."

Again, anger singes the corners of my control, but it is now Benjamin who comes to my aid. He places a hand firmly on Brandon's shoulder, gaining his attention. "I think it's about time for your break now, Brandon," he says amiably.

"Or maybe it's time for your break, Ben," Brandon retorts softly, mockingly. He winces slightly as Benjamin applies pressure to the shoulder he holds.

"I'm giving you a choice," Benjamin explains calmly. "Either take a break or I write you up for harassing the patients again. You've already reached your limit for offenses here at the institute. One more and you're out." He releases Brandon's shoulder. "I know you'll do the right thing."

Brandon's eyes are hard and filled with dislike as he looks at us one more time before walking away, cursing under his breath. I shake my head slightly and for the second time today wonder why he's not in here instead of me. I look at Benjamin quizzically for a moment as I try to understand why he would really send Brandon away.

He folds his arms across his chest, studying Del. "I know every patient here at the institution," he says, "if not by name, then at least by sight. And I don't know you. So when did you get here?"

"Today?" she answers unsurely. She begins to twirl a strand of colorful hair around her fingers. "Or maybe it was yesterday? I think I've been here before. Lots of people seem to know me here. They're nice to me. Most of them. I like nice people. Not not nice people. Like him." She points down the hallway in the direction Brandon headed.

"So you're one of the returning patients?" Benjamin asks.

"No, I'm just visiting," she answers. "And I don't really have much patience. I get distracted real easily. Distracted. Hmm. Can somebody get tracted?"

"No," he answers curtly.

"Oh," Del says sadly. "Well, I don't want to visit anymore. I want to find my doggie. He's not in here. So he must be out there. And Robin's going to help me. Aren't you?" She turns back to me and I nod dumbly. "See?" she tells Benjamin happily. "Because I'm not very good at finding stuff. Like my doggie. But he is. Robin. So I want to leave now. With Robin."

Benjamin raises an eyebrow in amused contempt. "And you expect me to just let you two walk out of here?" he asks scornfully.

"Yes," she answers easily.

"Okay." Benjamin turns around and pulls out some keys, turning off an alarm set up nearby and unlocking one of the doors. "Hope you had a nice stay," he comments and walks away, leaving me feeling totally bewildered and hoping this day won't get much weirder.


	9. Chapter 9

I Miss My Mind the Most, Chapter 9

"What the hell was that?" I ask in disbelief. Del directs her attention to an interesting...something... behind me, apparently in no hurry to give an answer. I look to find nothing and quickly return my gaze to her. "With Benjamin leaving?" I prompt, shaking a hand in her face to get her back.

She blinks at me and looks down, playing with her fingers nervously. "That was me," she says sheepishly. "I probably shouldn't have. Made him go away, that is. And he was nice to me. Nicer than that other man. So I didn't want to do anything that would make him sad. But he was in the way and we really need to go through that door and since you can't walk through things—you can't walk through things, right? I saw a bullet go through a person once. It was really yucky. He didn't get up after that so my sister came to get him. She's really nice. You'd like her. I think. She's really busy, though, and—"

"Del," I interrupt impatiently, "let's try to stay on track, okay? How did you make Benjamin leave?"

"I told him to," she responds happily and points at her forehead. "Up here. And he didn't know it." She gives a giggle."My doggie told me there's a big word for it. It starts like submarine but it's not submarine. I think it's sub...subaminal. Or something like that. What do you think?"

"How about subliminal?" I offer.

"What's that?" she asks.

"To implant a thought below the threshold of conscious perception," I answer. She stares at me blankly. "What you did to Benjamin," I interpret.

"Maybe," she murmurs and begins twirling a lock of hair. "I like subaminal better, though. Can we go find my doggie now?"

I sigh and slowly nod my head in agreement, feeling that's probably as close to an answer as I'm going to get from her. I look around one more time, still finding it hard to believe that no one's going to stop us and follow Del outside, shielding my eyes against the sunlight. A feeling of dizziness washes over me so I take a step back and lean against the doorframe. I place my other hand to my head and close my eyes, waiting for the feeling to pass.

"Do you need to sit down?" Del asks with concern.

"No, just give me a minute," I whisper, taking in deep, even breaths.

"Traveling usually makes people dizzy," she says. "Not me, though. I only get dizzy when I spin around for a really long time. Sitting down will make the world stop spinning. Not really. The world is always spinning. I wonder why we don't fall off? I'll go ask my brother."

"No, wait," I call out, opening my eyes slightly and holding out the hand that was against my head. It is then that I notice the glove. I'm wearing the glove from my Robin costume. My eyes widen in astonishment, my dizziness forgotten, as they follow the outstretched arm up to my shoulder and down my front to find the rest of my costume, from my steel-toed boots to the mask on my face, has come with the glove.

"What the hell?" I say for the second time in less than ten minutes. I look to Del for answers only to find she's disappeared. "Del?" I call out and begin moving, taking in my surroundings as I go.

I am surrounded by old apartment buildings that look like they've definitely seen better days. Any windows that have not been boarded up have been smashed, both in and out, with the broken glass merely pushed aside rather than cleaned up. Garbage in different stages of decomposition has been strewn about, leaving a smell of rotten eggs and old diapers to linger in the air. There's graphite as far as the eye can see. Cars up on granite blocks and missing various parts litter the streets, long forgotten by their owners. I have yet to find anyone even after five minutes of walking.

The sad part is, I recognize this place. I am in Jump City. The bad part of Jump City. It was the original center of the town, but as the population grew, so too did the city, leaving this part behind to grow old and forgotten. One would think the Titans would be here every night...

I stop in my tracks as realization hits me. I'm in Jump City and I'm wearing my Robin costume. I begin running. If I'm right, the Tower should only be about a mile from here. I can make it there in no time. I begin to slow down to a jog, though, after only a block, when another thought comes to mind. What if I'm wrong? What if there is no Tower and no Teen Titans? But then, why am I wearing my Robin costume? I come to a stop in the middle of a deserted street, allowing my heartbeat time to return to normal, as I try to understand what's going on.

"He didn't know," Del says. I turn to my right, certain there had been no one there before, and find her standing in a puddle in the gutter. Rain appears to be falling around her, yet she doesn't get wet. I move closer and find the rain is coming from the puddle, falling up rather than down. I rub my eyes, hard. When I open them, the puddle and rain have gone, leaving only me and Del.

"Where did you go?" I demand, masking my confusion with anger. I allow her no time to answer as I storm on. "You just disappeared on me, leaving me to wander the city without a clue. Now I want some answers and I want them now. What is going on?"

She scrunches up her face like a child thinking really hard. Just as I begin to grow weary of waiting, she answers uncertainly, "We're trying to find my doggie?"

I sigh and run a hand through my hair in frustration as I think, looking around as if for someone to pass her along to but without any luck. "Do you have any idea what's going on here?" I ask in desperation. "Or were you just caught up in all this like me?"

"Oh, I know lots of things," Del answers absently as she watches the clouds float by. "I know things even my family doesn't know, though they don't believe me. I know you, Dick, before you were Robin. Before today. From a long time ago. And you knew me, too. But you found someone else who made it so you couldn't see me anymore. He made you forget about me by making you someone else. But I never forgot you, I never forget my own. Not really. And I needed your help. So I did something."

My mind works overtime as it tries to make sense of her words. When did I know her? She said before I was Robin. I was in the circus with my parents then. And when they were killed, I moved in with Bruce and became Robin...but not immediately.

My eyes widen in surprise as I remember. She is right. I did know her. Before Bruce thought I was ready to become Robin, he gave me time to grieve. And what a hard time it was. I was torn up inside, but I put on a controlled front, never wanting to talk about it, never showing any emotions in the company of others...except for one.

I met her while walking through the woods one fall day. She was standing in a small pile of leaves, throwing them into the air and watching them fall on and around her as she laughed gleefully. The strange thing was, that even after doing this continuously for many minutes, the small pile of leaves never got smaller. I asked how she did this, but rather than answer, she asked me to join her, which I did, taking my mind off my grief.

She always seemed to show up right when I needed her, ready for some fun activity. I ended up telling her everything about me, though I never learned a thing about her, and I was okay with this. She made me happy, which was what I needed most at that time.

One day, Bruce approached me with the proposition of joining him on the "night shift" as his sidekick and I gladly accepted, devoting all my time to becoming the best I could. We began to travel a great deal, as well, and I never saw the girl again, even to say good-bye. Until today.

"But, that means you're—" I whisper. She nods her head slightly, not taking her attention away from the clouds. "How?" My eyes narrow suspiciously at her as I remember her last sentence. "What did you do?" I ask, hearing my voice harden.

She looks at me tiredly. "Something you're not gonna like," she says quietly. "Something you'll only believe if you see. And when you do see it, you probably won't help me find my doggie. That's why I don't want to show you. 'Cause then I'll be really sad. I don't like being sad. It's no fun."

"If I promise you that I'll still help you find your dog, even after, then will you show me?" I ask.

She begins jumping up and down and clapping her hands happily. "Oh, yes, yes, yes," she exclaims and begins skipping away.

"So where are we going?" I ask as I walk quickly to catch up with her.

"To the Tower, silly," she answers in a sing-song voice. "They're waiting for you. Mustn't keep them waiting."


	10. Chapter 10

I Miss My Mind the Most, Chapter 10

"Mustn't keep them waiting," Del says in a sing-song voice. "Let's take the shortcut, 'kay?"

"What short—" I begin when the dizziness overtakes me again. I reach out for something to lean against as I close my eyes, feeling incredibly nauseous. Finding nothing, I fall to the ground, hard on my bottom, and let out a grunt of pain.

"You mind giving a guy a little more warning next time you're going to do that?" I ask angrily after a minute of deep breathing. I open my eyes to discover we're at the front door of the Tower. After the day I've had, I'm really not that surprised. I slowly rise, wipe some of the dirt off of myself, and turn to Del, only to find that she's gone.

After a quick look around outside for her, I enter the Tower. Cautiously, I make my way up to the living room, taking in everything around me as if seeing it for the first time. It all looks normal enough, but the real test will be the Titans themselves.

As I'm walking down the hallway that leads to the living room, I hear a scream from within, followed by Beast Boy's voice. "No!" he howls. "How could you?"

I run in, pulling a birdarang from my belt, and look around for the cause of Beast Boy's agony. He kneels before the TV, arms at his sides, a controller from our game system in hand. Though I cannot see his face, I'm sure he weeps as I notice the screen states "Cyborg Wins!"

I chuckle softly and put away my weapon, feeling some of the stress from this day leave me. I see Starfire in the kitchen and give her a small wave. She eagerly waves back and returns to stirring the monstrous concoction she calls food on her planet. Here, it would be lucky to pass as bio-hazardous waste.

"What's going on?" I ask Cyborg amiably as I join him on the couch.

"Nothing new," he answers. "I'm just beating the snot out of Beast Boy's high score."

"Dude, it took me more than a week to get that," Beast Boy moans. "I played it so much, it's like I even played it in my sleep." He stands up and turns on Cyborg, quick anger rising in his eyes. "And you take less than five minutes to beat it!" he hollers.

"Three minutes and twenty-seven seconds to be exact," Cyborg gloats. With a bellow, Beast Boy hits the reset button and begins a new game. "So, where have you been?" Cyborg asks me.

"What do you mean?" I ask in surprise.

"It's almost nightfall," he explains, "and I haven't seen you since yesterday. Normally, you're the first one out. You sick? Nightmares keeping you up or something?"

Or something, I think bitterly. "Yeah, nightmares. Just catching up on some sleep," I lie. Seemingly satisfied, Cyborg turns his attention back to the game and starts playing. All my nervousness slips back to grip me as I try to find any reason why I should doubt these two are my friends. After a few minutes of studying them, I am content. So far, so good, I think with relief.

"Excuse me," Starfire says from behind me, startling me from my musings. "I did not mean to eavesdrop, but I thought I heard you say bad dreams were ailing you. On my planet—"

"No, thank you," I interrupt without looking at her. I've already tried some of her home remedies and they usually make me feel sicker than I did before I took them. She is persistent, though.

"But, Robin—"

"I said 'no,' Starfire," I say firmly. Sure that I've hurt her feelings, I turn to her and give a small smile. "Thank you for your concern, though," I tell her softly.

"You are welcome," she says happily and returns to the kitchen and whatever it is she's making. I turn back to Cyborg and Beast Boy, both involved in their racing game. As casually as I can manage, I ask, "So, do either of you know where Raven is?"

"Last I heard, she was going to the roof to do her meditatin' thing," Cyborg answers. He drops the controller and punches his fists in the air with his usual victory cry. "Booyah!"

"Dude, there is no way you coulda won that!" Beast Boy exclaims and I leave them to their bickering in pursuit of Raven. My mood seems suddenly buoyant as I slowly walk down the halls. Maybe it all really was just a bad dream, I think uncertainly.

I emerge onto the rooftop, look around, and spot Raven in her usual place, sitting, or rather, levitating, in her usual position, as she meditates near the edge of the Tower. My heart thuds once, then settles back to its natural rhythm. Slowly, I make my way over, not wanting to disturb her. I know how temperamental she can be when it comes to her meditating.

I stop a few feet away and study her from the side. She has removed her cloak which lies nearby in a neat folded pile. The last rays from the sun cast a rosy glow on her exposed skin and I feel a delightful shiver of wanting run through me.

I move around to the front, now only a few inches from her, yet she still pays me no heed. Surely she knows I'm here, I think in bewilderment. Her mouth moves quickly, forming silent words I don't recognize. Lines of concentration deepen along her brows and under her eyes. Awkwardly, I clear my throat to get her attention, but she continues meditating. "Raven?" I say tentatively. Nothing. "Raven," I say a bit louder and place a hand gently on her leg.

The heavy lashes that shadowed her cheeks fly open as intense astonishment touches her pale face. A soft gasp escapes her before gravity takes over and she begins to fall. Without thinking, I reach out, catching her around the waist, and pull her towards me. She clutches my shoulders and disentangles her legs, allowing me to lower her delicately to the ground.

We stand there for a few moments, just staring and holding each other, when she leans in the last few inches and kisses me gently. I'm too surprised to do anything until I feel her tongue touching my lower lip, asking for entrance. My heart dances with excitement and I gladly welcome her. Our tongues touch, timidly at first, but then more demanding. As we explore each others mouths, I hear someone moan, and realize it's me.

She raises her hands so that they are around my neck and begins running her fingers through my hair. I lower my hands to her behind and give a gentle squeeze, earning a moan from her. She arches her back, pushing her hips against mine, so close to me now that I can feel her heartbeat pulsing rapidly through her clothes.

_Robin, I'm surprised at you_, a familiar voice whispers. _Surely you know how wrong this is._ He's so close I can feel his breath on my ear.

I abruptly break the kiss, but don't release Raven. My face becomes set in a vicious expression as I look around wildly for Slade, but see nothing. A thrill of frightened anticipation touches my spine.

"What's wrong?" Raven asks worriedly.

"I thought I heard someone," I say distractedly. After a few more seconds, I turn back to her with a weak smile as a sort of apology. "Guess it was just the wind," I say lightly, not believing it for a second. I lean in, prepared to pick up where we left off, but am interrupted.

_Tell me, Robin_, he continues in that horribly calm voice, _how you can believe this to be the real Raven? As I recall, she instigated this rather...intense...kiss. Since when is Raven able to express such strong emotions so freely?_

With a pang, I realize he's right. I jerk away from her, take a step back, and stare, wordlessly. How could I have been so stupid?

_Make the lie big, make it simple, keep saying it, and eventually they will believe it,_ he quotes. _Let's look at the facts. Since entering the Tower, all has been perfect. Too perfect. Why?_

"I don't know," I whisper shakily. I really do know, but I don't want to admit it. I don't want to give this up. Raven's brows furrow in confusion and she takes a tentative step towards me. I shake my head vehemently, imploring her to keep her distance.

_Yes, you do know,_ he says coldly. _You headed right for the living room upon entering the Tower. Why?_

"Because that's where we normally hang out," I respond, trying to remain calm.

_And sure enough, the majority of your team was there, just_ _like you knew they would be,_ he says with quiet emphasis. _Doing exactly what they normally do, as if they didn't have a care in the world. Yet, as I recall, Cyborg claimed you had been missing for almost the entire day. Odd. The last time you disappeared, they were madly scouting the city for even the smallest sign of your whereabouts. What's changed?_

"I wasn't missing," I reply unsurely. "I was in my room sleeping. That's why he asked if I'd been having nightmares. One of them must have already come looking for me, like Starfire, and since it was a slow day, they let me catch up on my sleep."

_It's plausible,_ he admits. _Bad dreams could have disrupted your sleep pattern, throwing your internal clock off so excessively. But one thing still bothers me, something that doesn't quite fit in with this theory. If you were sleeping in your room, then how did you come to find yourself outside?_

Nervously, I bite my lip as I try to come up with an answer. Anything but the truth, I think desperately. "Sleepwalking?" I finally answer, my voice thick and unsteady.

_Wrong!_ he shouts, causing me to wince slightly. _You've never sleepwalked a day in your life, so why would you start now?_ He pauses briefly, as if expecting an answer, but I can only listen with rising dismay. _You wouldn't,_ he continues. _You've known all along, yet you chose to rely on what you saw, what you hoped, what you wished to be true, rather than on your mind. You told yourself the institution was nothing more than a dream, when in fact, this—_

"No," I moan, the knowledge twisting and turning within me. A sensation of intense sickness and desolation sweep over me as I realize I can no longer deny the evidence set before me. I feel a slight pressure in my head, like someone pushing against the temples.

_She's trying to get in,_ he warns me. _She wishes to make a connection in order to "help" you. But we know better. Stop her. _

"Stay out!" I yell, glaring at a very surprised Raven. I take another step back only to find I've reached the edge. Nowhere to go but down, I think giddily. A giggle tries to escape, but I quickly clap a hand over my mouth.

"Robin, what's going on?" she asks, moving in closer and studying me intensely. "You're acting so strangely. I know there's something wrong, I can sense it. Something big, something within that you're struggling with. You need to let me help you, let me into your mind, and we can conquer this...together." She gives me a small smile and I look down stupidly to find she has taken my hand in hers.

The temptation to believe it is almost insuperable. I look into her lovely amethyst eyes and can feel myself beginning to relax, letting down the mental barriers that kept her out. Slowly, I lift my free hand to caress her cheek, impelled involuntarily by my own passion.

_You_ _know that by accepting her "help," you are condemning yourself to this world of lies, _he growls, stopping me in mid-reach _She will manipulate you into accepting what you see rather than what you know. And you will believe not because you have to, but because you want to. _

"And why should I believe you?" I retort. I push Raven aside roughly and move away, anger beginning to singe the corners of my control. "You're not even really here. You're just another hallucination."

He chuckles nastily. _Is that what you've been telling_ _yourself?_ he jeers. _My_ _dear boy, repetition does not evolve a lie into the truth. _

"Then what are you?" I ask, my voice hoarse with frustration.

_Some may call me logic, merely using valid reasoning in showing you the flaws of this world. I think a better definition, though, is the voice within urging you to prefer right over wrong. I am your conscience. _

I stop moving, my body stiffening in shock, my eyes widening in astonishment. It's too much for my mind to handle. I throw back my head and start to laugh, loud and high, like a hyena. I do this for maybe three seconds, then suddenly cut it off.

"Okay, Jiminy," I say flatly. "Again, why should I believe you? How do I know this isn't just a trick? After all, you do sound like a certain maniac we tend to fight on a regular basis."

He chuckles without mirth. _Maybe because in this reality, you see me as the enemy, opposing all of your interests and causing you to feel great hatred toward me. But what do I know? After all, I'm not the one standing here having what appears to be a one-sided argument with myself. Imagine what Raven must be thinking._

"I thought she wasn't real?" I say mockingly, but turn back anyway. She's gone. Confused, I wander around the rooftop trying to find her. After a few minutes, I stop, having come up with an answer as my lips twist into a cynical smile.

If she was really here, I'll bet she phased through the roof, I think bitterly. She went to get the others so they can all "help" me. But there's only one who can help me now. This is all her fault. And with that, I walk quickly to the edge of the roof, cup my hands around my mouth, and yell her name.

"DEL! DEL!"


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: The bold/italicized parts aren't meant to make sense so don't try to. It's my crazy way of describing Delirium's realm. Let me know what you thought, I really like reviews, be they good or bad!

I Miss My Mind the Most, Chapter 11

"Del! Del!" I yell from the edge of the roof. Lowering my cupped hands from my mouth, I scan the city with a critical squint for some sign of her. All I can see are lights beginning to come to life, illuminating streets and homes now with the absence of the sun.

A lightning bug comes into my line of vision and I swat at it absently as I continue to watch the city. Why haven't the Tower's lights come on yet? I think briefly when I feel a slight tickle on my lower arm. It's the lightning bug again. It crawls along, its wings brushing against me as it flashes an eerie blue light. I pull back my hand, prepared to slap it out of existence, when the shock of discovery hits me full force.

"What the—?" I breathe, shaking my head slightly. "Blue light...that's just wrong." Another lightning bug joins him, this one emitting a green light. I tentatively reach towards them but they fly away. Slowly turning around, I follow them in a dreamlike state, freezing when my eyes adjust to the sight that is now before me.

Thousands of lightning bugs of every color hover a few feet above me, forming a blanket of ever-changing light. I rub my eyes firmly, causing filaments of brightness to appear against the black. I wait a moment before looking again. The bugs are still there, constantly moving. It's like watching Christmas tree lights that have been unstrung.

The whole scene is entrancing. I stare pensively as they dance around randomly, the colors filling my vision entirely, flashing abstract patterns like a kaleidoscope, except they actually make sense. **_Twirling, swirling,_** **_curling loops._** I nod my head slowly and begin to sway drunkenly. **_What else rhymes with curl?_** I feel like I'm falling, my thoughts becoming vague and unreal. Nonsense seems perfectly sensible as words and pictures seem to come from nowhere.

**_I move toward a crack of light _(remember: rabbits onlyhowl at midnight)_ spilling forth from under the forbidden door, sloshing around my feet _(and not a dropto drink)_ and reach out with my gloved hand to open it _(FORBIDDEN!-DON'T!-DO!-IT!)_ only to reveal the wallet woman who harnesses the power of ponies within her hat and she flails it around the blue sun as black roses _(death to all whobetray the crown!)_ sprout from soft sand that curls around my toes _(that tickles!)_, crying their beautiful tears of blood, begging me to take them away to the land of ten thousand shakes _(shake! shake! shake!)_ where they can drown their sorrows over chocolate and pickled red-eyed cactus ice cream _(the thirty-second flavor)_. Maybe Raven would like one of these flowers. I bend over to pick one, but prick my finger instead. Rather than pull away, I continue to push _(make it hurt!)_ my finger against the thorn, deeper and deeper, yet I feel no pain. The flower begins to expand, growing out instead of up _(what goes up must keepgoing up and up and—)_, finally popping like a balloon _(they weremeant to be free)_ with too much air _(been there, done that)_. Laughter floats up from my throat and I open my mouth to release the tropical fish _(can you tell me the way to Oz?)_ with eyes of green and blue. They ballroom dance around the _(one lump or two?)_ cotton candy pink clouds that come from my wounded finger, singing of peanut butter and fried rutabaga sandwiches. Somehow, I know the words and begin singing _(stop themadness!)_ with them as I watch clowns from outer space ride by on silver lizards that breathe rainbows made of popcorn. I grab one and try it. Tastes like chicken _(gluttony is somisunderstood)_. Take another bite. Tastes like spinach. I spit it out and hear a little girl giggling. _**

I slowly open my eyes, looking around unsurely. Someone stands over me, but from this angle, I can only see a silhouette. I'm pretty sure it's Del.

"You look silly," she says cheerily. "Like a clown. Not a scary clown, though. Except without the makeup. And the big shoes." Yep, definitely Del. Looking down, I find a red lightning bug resting on the tip of my nose. I bat it away and slowly sit up, crossing my legs and putting a hand to my head as it begins to throb.

"What happened?" I ask, my voice scratchy from yelling. I can now see as she kneels in front of me that she's changed her appearance again. The left side of her head has been shaved so only tiny blonde nubs stick out while the right side has been dyed in blues and pinks. She wears an over-sized red T-shirt that hangs down to her knees. It looks like it's seen better days and has the phrase "I LET MY MIND WANDER AND IT NEVER CAME BACK" printed on the front in purple block letters. Her hands are covered by orange children's gloves that have begun to unravel near the wrists. No sign of the fishnets.

"You fell down?" she answers unsurely.

My mouth takes on an unpleasant twist. "Yeah, thanks, I kinda figured that much out on my own," I say, my tongue dripping with sarcasm.

"Then why did you ask?" She cocks her head in confusion. "Why do they call them 'lightning bugs'? Or 'fireflies'? They're not made of lightning. Or fire. If they were, nobody could touch them because that would hurt. Fire is really pretty, especially when it belly dances. I think they should be called..."

I turn my head away, tuning out her ramblings as I try to figure out what happened. _Seizure?_ I muse silently. _Flashing lights have been known to cause seizures._ I shake my head slightly. _I've been to clubs with strobe lights and never seized, so why would I now? Did I merely pass out? It's been a really stressful day and I can't remember when I ate last. I don't feel hungry, though, just a little_ _thirsty, maybe. And what was with the strange images?_ _Something about chicken...and rainbows?_

Before I completely forget the images, I quickly turn back to ask Del if she had anything to do with them and am taken aback at how close she is, only inches separating us as we sit there, face to face. After an awkward moment of silence, I begin to slide away, being a big believer in personal space, but she suddenly takes my face in her hands, pushing slightly against my cheeks, and studies me.

"They want to get out," Del whispers, looking at me intently. Her breath fans my face, emanating the smell of sour grapes. "Your head is really full. And kinda noisy. They're tired of waiting and don't want to take turns. You should empty it. Or they could empty it for you. That would be good. Then we could go looking for my doggie and be happy and he can help us count feathers."

As she speaks, my body becomes limp and I can only stare back, the edges of my vision swimming, watching her mismatched eyes, feeling myself being drawn in. **_The silvery flecks in her green eye actually move, inching their way around her iris, starting_** **_their journey to the blue eye of milk and honey..._**when she blinks, snapping me out of the insane illusion. She releases me and sits back, crossing her legs and tapping the rooftop with her fingers. Every time she taps, it sounds like she's playing an out of tune piano.

"You came to my realm," she says excitedly, bouncing slightly. "What did you think? Did you like it? I like it. I get lots of visitors, but they don't stay long. I don't know why. It's really pretty, with all the colors. Pretty colors. Heliotrope's a good one. It's actually purple, just with a fancy name. It's really hard to say. So's anthracite. I have trouble with that one. And the funny stuff. In my realm. My doggie didn't like it at first. He said it was 'too entangled with nonsense.' I think he likes it now. I really want to go find him now."

"What are you talking about?" I ask in dazed exasperation.

"Um, you were looking for me, weren't you?" she asks uncertainly. "Yeah. Unless you weren't. But I think you were. Cause you were yelling. Really loud. For, um, Del. Unless you know another Del. That would be neat. Then she could be the weird one. And I could be the old me again. I really liked her. She was pretty. Do you think I'm pretty?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever," I answer crossly. She gives a squeal of delight and starts to get up. I quickly reach out, grabbing her shoulders and lightly push her back down. "You said I came to your 'realm'?" I ask, my voice smooth, but insistent.

"Oh, yeah," she says brightly. "See, you were yelling. And then you made the lightning bugs come. Maybe cause you needed light—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I interrupt, my mind going into overtime again. "What do you mean 'I made the lightning bugs come'? I can't do anything like that."

"Yes you can," she coos. "At least, in here. And it was a really good idea, too. I never would have thought to use lightning bugs for lights. I usually just squish 'em between my hands so they glow. But they only squish yellow." She looks up wonderingly. "These can squish yellow and green and aquamarines and crimsons. But crimsons don't taste good. Neither does coffee."

"None of this is real," I say with fearful clarity. "This is all in my head. It's only a dream, or something. All created by you."

"It is? Wow," she says, her voice full of awe. She begins to twirl a strand of hair with her fingers and looks around confusedly. "But that's not right. I don't make dreams. Do I? No, cause then I'd be my brother. He's really good, too, and I think you'd like him, but he can get kinda weird sometimes since he's still new—"

"So it's a hallucination, then," I cut in. "Fabricated even before I awoke in the restraints at the funny farm. And it's not just that, either, but this whole day itself. Why? Why did you do it?"

"Because you made me happy," she explains as if it should be obvious. "Um, you used to be sad. A lot. And I didn't like that. And we would play in the woods. That was really fun. With the running, and the skipping, and the swimming through leaves. We were both happy. But then you'd leave and be sad again. I didn't like that at all. So I made it so you would be happy and have happy days."

"Do I look or sound happy to you?" I seethe.

A melancholy frown flits across her features. "Well, no," she answers softly. "I think it's cause you woke up wrong."

My brows draw downward in a frown. Some of the anger clears up, leaving only confusion. "So you're saying this day happened because I woke up on the wrong side of the bed?" I ask skeptically.

A flash of humor crosses her face. "No, that would just be silly," she says. "Beds don't have wrong sides. But they're really fun to bounce on. Up and down and up and down. For hours and hours, never able to stop, even when your feet start to hurt and the sheets turn red. And then you find you're in the wrong bed. Like you waking up in Dick's bed. You weren't s'posed to, you know. He wakes up there and you wake up here."

I look at her quizzically for a moment. "You do know I'm Dick, right?" I ask uncertainly. "Dick Grayson. I've heard you call me Dick and it wasn't in a vulgar fashion."

"Sure I know," she says jovially. "I know lots of stuff. Like I know that you're different from the other you. He wakes up in that place with all the people who act funny. I like to visit them, sometimes. They make me laugh. And you tell really good stories. There was this one—"

"W-wait a s-second," I stutter, running my hands nervously through my hair and looking around anxiously. "Are you saying that there's another me? Like I woke up in an alternate reality?"

"Um, no and...kinda sorta," she answers and begins pulling on a loose thread from one of her gloves. "See, there's only one you. You. You are you. Just like I'm me. I used to be someone else, but that didn't work. She had to leave because we couldn't both be me. Get it?"

"No," I reply sharply. "You're contradicting yourself. You said there was another me, but now you're saying there can only be one me. Then you say that I'm 'kinda sorta' in an alternate reality?"

Her whole face spreads into a smile. "Exactly!" she exclaims. "Let's go find my doggie now!"

With a groan, I bow my head and begin rubbing the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger in an attempt to stave off another headache.

"I knew you wouldn't like this," she says quietly after a few moments. I raise my eyes to find her still pulling on the loose thread. She has accumulated a small pile of yarn in front of her, yet the glove hasn't gotten any smaller.

"I didn't want to bring you back," she continues in a weak and tremulous whisper. "But you were in the wrong place. And I thought my doggie might be here. But he isn't. I miss him. A lot. And now you won't help me find him. And now I need to go somewhere to cry. Which isn't fun at all."

She stands up and begins walking away. I slowly rise, but don't follow. "Del," I call out. She stops, but doesn't turn back. "I'll help you find your dog."

She spins around and starts jumping, clapping her hands and laughing. She looks so ridiculous that I can feel my lip curving into a slight smile. "Just tell me first," I plead, my expression becoming serious, "what is going on."

She stops the foolishness and slowly makes her way back to me. "But you already know," she says. "You've known all along. You just forgot what you knew. And now that you're starting to remember, you don't want to."

"Remind me. Please," I say, my voice full of entreaty.

She gives a loud sigh and stops a few inches away from me, tilting her head so I can see my face. She reaches up and caresses my cheek, smiling sadly. "You're not real, Robin."


	12. Chapter 12

I Miss My Mind the Most, Chapter 12

"You're not real, Robin."

At first, I can only stand there, wordlessly, my heart pounding loudly. Irritation sets in and I can feel my eyes narrow and harden as I glare at her. "That's not funny," I respond sharply.

"Was it s'posed to be?" she asks.

"How can I not be real?" I vent. "I'm standing right here in front of you. For crying out loud, you're touching me!"

She takes her hand away from my face and takes a step back, looking down as she begins playing with her gloves. "Haven't you ever wondered why everything always works out?" she asks quietly. "Why in the end, you guys always win?"

"No," I answer firmly, crossing my arms over my chest.

"You should, you know," she says quietly. "Think about it, that is. 'Cause I have. And I think that no one can win that much. Unless he's really lucky. I'm not. Or maybe he's named Lucky. I'm not that, either. See, sometimes I play games with my family and I don't always win. And neither do they. Which is good. 'Cause I'd feel really bad if I always won. Or lost. Have you ever lost?"

I have to think about that for a few minutes. "Um, I lost a card game once," I answer pathetically. "I'm not that good at charades, either."

"But what about a battle?" she presses. "Ya know, good vs. evil? Black vs. white? Um, hot dog vs. hamburger? Evil, evil hamburgers."

Again, I have to think. "Well, we may not have lost the battle, but we lost one of our own in a battle. Her name was Terra. She was good, but just really confused for awhile and made some bad choices. She came through for us in the end and it cost her...it cost her her life."

"Aww, that's really sad," Del says somberly. She looks up and her face instantly brightens. "But she came back, right? She was different, sure. After all, she was a statue for awhile. That's gotta be really boring. Boring, boring, snoring, flooring, um, moring? Is that a word?"

"We're still not even sure that this new girl really is Terra," I argue. "None of us has seen her except Beast Boy, and the way he tells it, I think it lacks hard evidence. He's willing to bet the Gamestation he's right, though, and next to Terra, that holds the most value to him. So I guess that says a lot."

"I usually don't say a lot," she says thoughtfully. "At least, not a lot that makes a lot of sense. It does to me. But not always. Like now. And here. This doesn't make sense."

"You can say that again," I mumble, looking up at the lightning bugs still hovering overhead.

"So, um, did you lose?" she asks. "I can't remember if you told me. I think I got distracted again. Ya know, that happens a lot. To me."

"Oh! How about the first time we went up against the Hive?" I try. "They were able to temporarily get rid of me and take the Tower from the other Titans. While they were in the Tower." I pause. "No, I found the Titans and we all took out the Hive and reclaimed the Tower that same day. Okay, how about-? No, won that one. Well, there was—? No. Damn! Okay, so in the end, we always win. So what? We're a really good team that works really well together."

She gives me a sly smile. "And that's what makes them all such really good stories," she trills. "Where it looks like the bad guys are gonna win. But then you all come back with something even better. And then you win. Always. But it's always different. Just like all of you. Which makes it so neat! 'Specially when Dick tells 'em. 'Cause he really gets into 'em with the hands waving and lots of sounds that make you want to hear more. I know I do."

"But they're not stories," I correct her. "They actually happened. You make it sound like it's all make believe."

She gives a shriek and touches the tip of her nose. "I knew you would get it!" she exclaims. "Now we can go look for my doggie!"

I stare at her silently for a few moments, my breath seeming to have solidified in my throat. "N-no," I finally stutter, feeling hysteria bubbling up inside me as I slowly shake my head. "The Teen Titans are real. Those things really happened." I grab her by the shoulders and shake her slightly. "And don't say I'm crazy!"

She looks at me in confusion. "Okay, I won't. But it's really fun. Being crazy. 'Cause you can do all kinds of things. But you're not, you know. Um, crazy. Not totally. You just went and made your own little world. Nothing wrong with that. At least, I don't think so. I like making stuff. It's fun."

I open my mouth to retort, but can only stand there, blinking in bafflement as her words sink in. "Are you saying I made this?" I whisper.

"Well, I helped a little," she replies sheepishly. "Actually, it was kinda a lot. And only 'cause we had to. 'Cause you weren't made for that world. And it turned out real good, too. 'Cause you told me what to do. It took a really long time, too. Prob'ly 'cause I kept forgetting about it. Most of the stuff I make is weird. That's what most people say. They're right, ya know."

"What did you do?" I ask angrily and shake her again. She looks at me crossly, but I don't care. I'm tired of this game.

She sighs and averts her eyes from me. "I told you. I told you lots of times. In lots of ways. And I told you you wouldn't like it. 'Cause you changed. You kept going back. Why wouldn't you stay? Like a good little birdie. Singing happy. Being happy. Just like you wished. Do you remember that wish? When you were little?"

I give a frustrated growl and release her. "I was a child," I reply irritably. "I made a lot of wishes."

"'Cept this one was special," she tells me. "The last time we played together. I don't remember what we played. Or how we played it. But we were really happy. At the beginning. And at the end. And I wanted it to stay that way. 'Cause you know I like happy. Don't you? But you had to leave. The dark man said so. And that's when you made that special wish. Remember?"

Surprisingly, some part of me does remember. "I wished that superheroes were real," I answer in a flat, monotone voice. "Most of all, I wanted to be a superhero so I could save children from having to endure the same pain I felt at having witnessed my parents' murder." I shake my head. "How can I remember that? I was only eight. I haven't even thought about it until now."

"Because it's time," she says quietly. "Time to accept the truth. What happened next?"

"I went home with Bruce...and he told me about Batman the following night," I answer carefully. I swallow with difficulty. "But that wasn't real, was it?"

"Nope," she answers sadly, shaking her head slowly. "I wanted to make it real. I really did. For everybody. But I'm not allowed to 'cause my sister said so. She's real smart. Brain smart. Something like it would hurt lots of people. Or lots of people would get hurt. Or something. If I made real into not real. For all of them. So I just made it not real for you."

"How?" I ask.

She looks towards the city, as though pondering her next words. "That's a good question. And I wish I had a good answer. But I don't. 'Cause I know it's not the answer you want to hear. Um, you like facts. Right? They're good. This isn't. Not facts. Not even close. This is all I have. So here it is. I just did it. 'Cause I could. Weird, huh? Ya know how when you do something for a really long time, ya can do it without even thinking about it? Like, when I first went all fishies, it was different than now. 'Cause I had to think about it. I was changing. But now, I just do. Whenever I want to. And even when I don't want to. Or butterflies. I can go butterflies, too."

I glare at her, frowning. "So, you're saying it happened just like that," I say scornfully, snapping my fingers for emphasis. "I wanted to be a hero, you wanted me to be a hero, so I was a hero. I was Robin. Happily-ever-afters all around."

"Kinda," she says. "I knew you were Robin, but I couldn't make you Robin 'til I knew you wanted to be Robin. 'Cause maybe you wanted to be someone else. Someone besides you. A different hero. There are fast ones and slow ones and strong ones and smart ones and fat ones and skinny ones and ones that climb on rocks. It's a really long list. And you wanted to be one of them. But which? I didn't know. So I thought about it. And I thought about it. A lot. And it kinda hurt. So I just came and asked you. And you told me. But I had to be sneaky about it. That's a funny word. Sneaky. It sounds made-up. Like phopy. That's when your phone is sad. I came up with that one. Clever, huh? Um, weren't we talking about something? Something important?"

"Yeah. We were talking about how you made more than half my life into one big consistent lie," I supply dejectedly.

She gives me a questioning look. "No, that can't be right, 'cause that sounds mean and I don't do mean. Unless someone's mean to me. 'Cause that hurts me. Lots. Ya know, if I had a house, I bet I could see it from up here."

Another memory clicks into place. "I had a dream about you that night," I murmur. "Actually, I dreamt about you a lot. You came into my room and crawled into bed beside me. We just talked, mostly about nonsense. That's all we ever did in my dreams. But they weren't dreams, were they?"

She giggles and shakes her head. "Nope. That's how I was sneaky. I made you think they were dreams. Which was hard. 'Cause I don't do dreams. 'Specially when they really aren't. My brother does. But he wouldn't help me. And that's how I found out. Really clever, huh? I thought so anyway. I have to, 'cause no one else ever does. Think I'm clever. Clever enough to know Robin needed to go here and Dick needed to stay there."

"What do you mean?" I ask. "I thought you said there couldn't be two of me."

"There can't," she confirms. "There can only be Robin in here and Dick over there. That's how it goes." She brings a hand up right in my face, the index finger standing alone. "One Dick." She brings up the other hand in the same fashion, close to the other. "One Robin." She twists the fingers together. "Used to be one. Were 'sposed to be two. So that's what we did." She pulls the hands apart. "But you," she bounces the right hand slightly, "wouldn't listen. Even after we put you here. You were out. You were free. You were where you wanted to be." Her face brightens. "Hey, that rhymes! And I didn't even have to think about it! Let's see if I can do it again." She drops her hands to her sides and stares blankly at nothing for a few moments, silent.

"Later," I tell her. "Let's see if I've got this straight. I'm just a part of Dick?"

"Mm-hmm," she agrees and brings her hands back up. "You," she bounces the right hand again, "are smart, strong, brave Dick. He," she bounces the left hand, "isn't. You've got the good parts. You're younger than him 'cause you came later, but don't look like it. You were born the day his parents fell. Fell and never got up. So he could run away. And hide. 'Cause he didn't like it. It hurt him too much. And you got to be Dick. 'Cept different. 'Cause you were different. But not too different. Just enough. So no one knew. Not even you." She gasps with delight. "I did it again! That is so neat! You wanna try it?"

I stand there, dazed, never expecting it to have gone this far. "This can't be," I whisper. "I'm not a personality. I'm solid. Flesh and blood." I pull off the glove on my left hand and bring out a birdarang, placing the sharpened wing against my now exposed palm. I push down hard and slowly slice open the flesh, hissing from the pain as blood begins to appear. Having completed my task, I throw down the weapon and hold out my hand, palm up. "Don't say I'm not real," I rage as I watch the blood pool in my cupped hand. "I felt that. It's called pain and it hurt a lot. Can a personality feel? Can a personality bleed? I'm a person, damn it!"

"Yes, you are," she agrees. "But only when you're in here. That's gonna need a band-aid. A really big one." She pulls up her sleeve to show a grungy pink band-aid with ponies near her shoulder. "I found this one. Isn't it cute? I don't really need it, though. You can have it. If you want. 'Cept I don't think it's big enough. But we can find some more."

I tilt the hand to the side, allowing the blood to fall to the rooftop and shake it a few times as I pull out a small roll of gauze from my belt. "There is nothing you can say that will convince me that I'm not real," I say shakily as I begin to wrap the wound.

"Then maybe I should show you." She removes her gloves and moves in closely. Quickly, she reaches up and wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me down to her level. "I'll keep this short," she whispers and slams my mouth onto hers.

Shock and intensity fill my body so quickly that I would have pulled back had Del's hands not been holding me so tightly. Her lips begin to move against mine, begging them to come out and play. Stubborn and confused, I keep my still position, hoping she will give up, but rather, she opens them herself with her tongue. With a small moan, my body relaxes without my permission and my eyes slowly close as I drop the roll of gauze and place my hands on her hips, copying the movements of her tongue.

Suddenly, she pulls her mouth away from mine and takes a few steps back, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. I straighten up and close my still slack jaw, giving her a sidelong glance of utter disbelief. "What the hell was that?" I demand.

"Um, well, since you don't really like traveling," she explains timidly, "I thought I'd try something. To find a way to take you're mind off it. So you wouldn't get sick. Or fall down. Um, I think it's called a distraction. I'm probably wrong, though. But they sure take my mind off things. Real fast. Did it work?"

I look around to find that we are definitely not in Kansas anymore. Nothing looks familiar to me. "What did you do?" I whisper, turning back to her. "Where are we?"

She looks at me in amusement. "Why, you're back in Dick's world now," she says happily. "Welcome to the real world, Robin."


	13. Chapter 13

I Miss My Mind the Most, Chapter 13

"Welcome back to the real world, Robin."

It's definitely not what I expected. Booths line each side of the dirt path we stand beside, displaying various prizes to be won by those passing by through games of chance or foods filled with sugary goodness to be purchased. Oddly dressed characters call out with promises of amazing and frightening feats beyond the imagination to be seen for a small price. Calliope music can be heard coming from a large colorful tent a short ways away as well as raucous laughter and applause.

I'd know this kind of place anywhere. For eight years of my life, I called it home. Painful memories begin to flood my mind, all involving my parents. I swallow hard and bite back the tears that have begun to well within my eyes. After taking a deep breath, I look to Del in confusion. "We're at a circus. Why did you bring me to a circus? Shouldn't I be back at the nut house?"

She gives me a small frown. "I didn't bring you here," she protests. "I just brought you to Dick. He came here. After he got out. Um, I guess. So you should ask him. 'Cept you can't. Can I have some fluffy candy?"

"You brought me to _Dick_?" I mock. "So how did _Dick_ get out? It's not like _he_ could've just walked out of there, right?"

"Yep. Um, that's just what he did. That nice man let him out. When he let us out. You and me. So we could look for my doggie. 'Cept we didn't find him. And, um, we went somewhere else to look. Somewhere Dick can't go. Or shouldn't go. To the other side of the looking glass. Like you. You shouldn't be here. Yet here you are. Again. And Dick ran away...with the spoon."

I sigh and absently shove my hands in my pockets as I look around. Except my costume isn't supposed to have pockets. Feeling somewhat puzzled by this, I pull my hands out and turn my attention downwards to find my costume has disappeared.

In it's place, I now wear a black, short-sleeved shirt that's been stretched out so it's too big, brown cargos with stains, a frayed piece of rope tied at the waist to serve as a crude belt, and a pair of scuffed green sneakers missing the laces.

As I examine my "new" clothes, trying to figure out where they came from, I notice the wound on my hand is also missing. I bring my palm close to my face, studying it in vain for even the slightest scratch. Nothing. It's like it never happened. But I know differently.

I look back to Del who is now munching happily on purple cotton candy from a long paper cone. "Where did you get that?"

"From a little girl," She licks her sticky fingers and talks around them. "She was lost. And sad. So I gave her a friend. Um, Mr. Bloopy-bloop. He's a really big bunny who talks and talks and never stops. And only she can see him. And she was happy. So she gave me this." She holds the cotton candy out to me. "You want some? It's really yummy."

I shake my head. "When did all this happen? I'm standing right here and I never saw or heard any of this."

"Yeah, um, you were kinda looking at yourself and doing that thinking thing again," she says. "You miss out on a lot that way. So you should stop. Thinking so much. I did. 'Cause it hurt. Lots. And look at me now." She stuffs a large piece of cotton candy in her mouth and sticks out her now purple tongue a moment later, crossing her eyes and tilting her head back in an attempt to see it. "Ith by pung a dithwend colla?" she asks with her tongue still out. I decipher this as "Is my tongue a different color?" and roll my eyes as I nod my head.

I shove my hands in my pockets again as I try to understand why we're here when my fingers brush against an unknown sticky object. I pull out a piece of already chewed gum and quickly throw it aside, wrinkling my nose in disgust as I furiously wipe my hand against my shirt. "Okay, what is with these clothes?" I ask irritably. "They look like they were pulled out of the garbage. Shouldn't I be wearing that outfit from the funny farm?"

"Prob'ly. 'Cept you wouldn't get very far in those," she answers. "Not out here. Since not everybody wears 'em. Actually, not many people wear 'em, either. Though a lot more should. 'Cept that would be silly. 'Cause they'd look silly. Not that they don't. Or something. Dick knew this. At least, I think he did. So that must be why he changed. Um, his clothes. So he could come here. And not back there. I think he was sad."

I speak with reluctance. "But why would he come here? Why didn't he try to go back home?"

"Maybe 'cause it's the circus?" she answers uncertainly. "And it's a happy place. I know it makes me happy. How 'bout you? And, really, it kinda is his home. Since he never really left. You did. But since this is the real world, you have to be him. 'Cause there is no you. Robin. Here. Just Dick. You're Dick now. Everyone calls you Dick. 'Cept I'm gonna keep calling you Robin. Or else I might do something. Um, bad. Like forget to take you back. To Robin's world. And that would be really bad. Unless you wanna stay here. 'Cept I don't think you can. Um, can we look for my doggie now?"

I glance around one more time. "There's nothing here for me anymore," I say thickly, shaking my head sadly. "Let's see if we can find the exit."

A half hour later, we find ourselves in the middle of a large city I'm sure I've never been to, yet much of it seems very familiar to me. As we walk, I find small similarities to both Jump City and Gotham City, such as the architecture of certain buildings, landmarks, even small shops and hangouts. I ask Del about this.

"It's 'cause this is Dick's city," she explains. She plays with the paper cone from the circus, folding and bending it into different shapes as we walk. "Or the dark man's city. Where he brought you two. And some others. Um, after the accident. You used it to make Robin's city. Some of it. I think it needs more color. And flowers. 'Cause they're pretty. I could make some. Would you like that?"

"Bruce is here?" I ask in surprise. "Where?"

"Hmm, prob'ly at his house," she replies, still focused on her paper. "Did you know it's really big? I think so, anyway. Do you want to go there?" I hastily nod my head. "'Kay. Now where did he put it again?" She looks up and turns in a full circle. "Well, it's not here. And I know it's not there." She points behind me. "'Cause that's where the funny place is. Or maybe it was that way?" She points in a different direction. "Um, do you remember where it is?"

"How can I remember where to go when I don't know where I'm coming from?" I ask in frustration.

"But you do know. You just don't want to. 'Cause then it means something. Something real bad. Um, to you. And you'll be sad. Or mad. The angry kind. Not the other kind. The crazy one. 'Cause you don't want me to call you that." She holds her hand out to me, a small origami bird resting on her palm. "I made a duckie. His name is Sillyhead Moo-moo. He thinks he's a cow. Listen." She pulls on the tail end and the beak moves, emitting a low "moo." I figure it's just Del playing around until the paper duck starts flapping it's wings by itself and flies away. I watch it until I can't see it anymore and turn back to Del.

"Could you try to be serious for maybe two minutes?" I beg.

"Nope," she answers instantly and starts skipping around me. "Not that I couldn't try. 'Cause I could. But it won't work. I know. 'Cause I tried before. I had to. 'Cause my brother was going all butterflies. And, uh, it was all hurty and stuff. And I didn't like it. I have more fun this way instead. Wanna try?"

I stand there silently, unsure what I should do next, when I hear sirens in the distance approaching fast. A nearby stoplight begins flashing and cars try to get out of the way as a sports car comes flying past followed by three police cars. Hungry for some action, I start running after them, my eyes glued to the chase.

"Where ya going, Dick?"

Del now stands before me and I stop just short of colliding with her. "I have to go," I say hurriedly, trying to move around her. She blocks my path by moving in front of me. "I have to help them."

"Not here," she tells me. "This is Dick's world. Remember? No superheroes. You're not Robin. You're Dick. Remember? Dick doesn't help the loud men in the whiny cars. Dick doesn't have fun toys like Robin. Remember? Dick will get hurt and that's no fun. He might not wake up from the boo-boos."

As much as I hate to admit it, she's right, there's nothing I could do. Not like this. I sigh and look around, trying to get some sense of direction, when I spot a familiar face. "Alfred?" I whisper. I only got a glimpse, but I'm sure it was him. I take off after him, fearing I may lose him in the midday crowd.

"Alfred!" I yell, crashing through people without so much as an apology. I hear obscene remarks about my rudeness, but figure now is not the time for manners. "Alfred!" I call again, jumping over a small dog. He stops walking and slowly turns back, trying to locate the source of the calls. Seeing me, he drops his bag of groceries, complete surprise on his face.

I stop before him and smile awkwardly. "Hey, Alfred," I pant. "Long time no see."

He's momentarily speechless in his surprise. "Master Dick?" he finally breathes, placing a tentative hand on my shoulder as he studies me. "Is it really you?"

"The one and only," I say huskily. My gaze becomes clouded with tears as he pulls me in for a heartfelt hug. I never realized how much I missed the old man until now. After a few moments, we step apart and he gives my shoulders a slight squeeze before releasing me.

"It is good to see you, Master Dick," he says softly, flashing me a brief smile. "Though I must say, rather unexpected. However did you get here?"

"I walked," I joke. He gives me a stern look. Suddenly, all pleasure leaves me. "I don't want to talk about it."

He bends over and begins collecting the spilled contents of his bag. "Perhaps later then," he consents. "For now, we need to get you home and cleaned up." He stands up and gives me a once over, lifting an inquiring brow at my ensemble. "Unless you've made other arrangements?" I answer him with a snort. "Let's be off then."

I start following him to the car when I remember Del. "Hold up, Alfred." I turn back for her, but she's not there. I start moving slowly through the crowd in search of her, I even call out her name, but there's no response. After a few minutes, I return to Alfred who looks at me in puzzlement.

"There was a girl with me," I explain. "A friend. She really sticks out in a crowd. You can't miss her. Kind of a cross between punk and ditzy. Did you see her?" He shakes his head slightly, watching me oddly. I look back to the crowd, biting my lower lip as I think. It's not that I'm worried about her safety. I know she can take care of herself, to an extent. I'm worried that she won't be able to find me. She's my only way home, after all.

"I'm sure your friend will be fine," Alfred assures me. "We really should be going, though. I'm sure you're eager to see Master Bruce. Unless—" he gives me another odd look, "—this friend is perhaps more than just a friend?"

I snort again. "Real funny, Alfred," I say. He gives me a sly smile and we make our way to the car.

About an hour later, I'm sitting on my bed in Wayne Manor, having showered and changed into some new clothes Alfred and I picked up on the way. We figured I might need some, seeing as it's been more than three years since I've been here. I hold in my hand an old photo of my parents encased in glass and look at it somberly as I listen to my radio, tuned to a news station.

So many problems in the world, it's nearly unbelievable. Wars, disasters, diseases, poverty, famines, the list goes on and on. And no superheroes. Only a few average people trying to make a difference while the rest of the world plays dumb. It's no wonder I left.

My eyes widen in horror at this realization and I hear the sound of glass breaking. I look down at my shaking hands to find they are now empty, remnants of the frame now scattered on the wooden floor. "What's happening?" I whisper.

"Are you okay, Dick?" a deep voice asks from the doorway. I lift my head to find Bruce watching me with concern. He comes over to the bed and sits beside me.

"I-I can c-clean that up," I stammer and start to stand. He places a hand on my shoulder and gently pushes me back down.

"Don't worry about it. Right now, we need to talk." He studies me for a moment. "How have you been, Dick?"

Terrific, I think sarcastically. I wake up this morning to find I'm a long time resident of the local nut house which I don't remember at all. I'm told that I don't exist. That the world I thought was real was nothing more than my overactive imagination brought to life by a little girl who can alter reality. So now I've supposedly walked in both worlds and neither can possibly be right but both are true. And how have you been?

"I'm fine," I answer angrily, focusing on anything but him.

He sighs. "I know you resent me for sending you to the institution," he says, sounding tired. "That's because you always looked at it like a punishment. I'm only trying to help you...Robin."

I turn on him in surprise. "What did you call me?"

"Robin. Or is it Red X again? You two share a lot of the same qualities, you know."

"What? No. I—Wait." I'm starting to get flustered. "I thought no one knew."

His left eyebrow raises a fraction. "I've known you for eight years now. I try to visit you once a week. I've seen all your different sides. Though you, Robin, seem to get out the most. Dick was doing so well, too, channeling you through stories so he could be in control. It's been almost a year now since I saw you last. We all had such high hopes."

"She said there isn't supposed to be a Robin here."

"Then why are you here?"

I look away from him. "Because I didn't believe her."

"What?" I silently shake my head. "You know this is wrong," he says grimly. "You need to go back to the institution. The doctors can help you."

"Yeah, they'll help me by killing me," I retort, my voice rising with anger. My eyes widen in shock as the words sink in. "They want to kill me?"

"You could look at it that way. But since you, Robin, were never born, you can't die. Neither can the others. You were created to help Dick get through a tough time. You're not real."

"Then why are you talking to me as if I were?"

"Because I know that ignoring the problem doesn't make it go away. That's why I already called the institution. They're on their way."

I can feel my face twisting in anger when the doorbell rings. I jump up from the bed, panic rioting within me. I race out of the room, stopping near the top of the stairs to watch Alfred opening the front door. Leslie walks in, carrying a small black bag, followed by five men wearing the worker's uniforms from the institution. Brandon and Benjamin are among them.

I start walking backwards, trying to move out of sight while Alfred and Leslie exchange pleasantries, but I run into a large, solid object. Without having to turn around, I know it's Bruce. "How could you?" I whisper in accusation.

He places a hand gently on my shoulder, but I shake it off, turning around to face him, my anger becoming a scalding fury. "It really is for the best," he tells me somberly. "We just want Dick back."

"I AM DICK!"

I hear hurried footsteps coming up the stairs and try to get around Bruce, but he grabs me tightly by my upper arm. I pull back with my other arm, ready to throw a punch, when I'm tackled by what feels like an entire football team. I go down hard, striking my head against the floor, causing me to black out for a bit. When I wake up, I find myself slumped forward in a sitting position, sporting a too tight straitjacket with fetters around my ankles.

I slowly lift my throbbing head and see Leslie kneeling beside me, watching me worriedly. She lightly touches my now sensitive forehead, causing me to wince. "That's going to leave a nasty bump. Are you okay?"

"What do you think?" I ask while glowering at her.

"Well, I apologize for the roughhousing, dear, but from what I hear it was necessary. You were about to strike Bruce. Why?"

"He deserved it," I mutter and start struggling against the restraining jacket. "Let me go. Now."

"I'm afraid that's not going to happen. We need to get you back to start you're new therapy." She looks up and I follow her gaze which stops on Bruce. "Are you sure about this?"

He stares at me stonily causing me to feel uncomfortable. "It's the only thing left. Do it."

Warning spasms of alarm begin to erupt within me as I'm hoisted up under the arms by two of the workers. "What are you talking about? What's 'the only thing left'?"

Brandon helps Leslie up while Benjamin holds her now open bag out to her. She reaches in and pulls out a syringe, taking off the needle cover and squirting out a bit of the liquid inside. "We'll talk about it later," she tells me. "Right now, I'm just going to give you a little prick with my needle and when you wake up, you'll be back home."

"No," I breathe, my pulse racing as I try to struggle. The battle is over before it even began. One of the workers, I think it's Brandon, pulls back my head, exposing the veins in my neck, allowing Leslie to easily inject me with the drug. I can feel the effects almost instantly when my body starts relaxing and my eyelids begin to feel heavy.

"We'll start the sessions tomorrow," I hear Leslie say as my head droops forward and darkness engulfs me.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Well, we've finally come to the end. I'd like to thank everyone who's read and reviewed this story (especially KF fan). It sounded like you all liked it as much as I liked writing it (lots!). I had to put my other stories on hold while I finished this one, but I think I'll start working on "Trials" again. Look it up! And please, remember to review my last chapter here. I have a sequel in mind, but only if you all really want one. Thanks again!

I Miss My Mind the Most, Chapter 14

"Hey, sleepyhead. Time to get up."

I slowly open my heavy lidded eyes to the all too familiar white room. I'm back at the institution, back to where this whole mess began. I let out a groan and try to sit up, but my arms and legs are in restraints again.

"Did you know that words can sound exactly the same but mean totally different things?"

Del stands beside the bed, looking at me inquiringly. She's changed again. She wears bib overalls, caked with dirt, and a long sleeved fishnet top with holes in various places. She pushes an ugly, oversized hot pink snow hat with ear flaps and white pom-poms off of her eyes allowing me to see scraggly pieces of red hair beneath. A lime green muffler that hangs to the floor completes the ensemble. A German shepherd sits beside her, panting.

"I take it that's your doggie?"

She nods her head. "He's a good doggie. 'Cause he's my doggie. Not a different doggie. Right?" She looks down at him as though expecting an answer. Surprisingly, he gives one.

"Actually, I'm your brother's dog. He just asked me to baby sit for a while. And how many times do I have to tell you: it's Barnabas. Call me Barnabas."

"Okay, doggie." She pats him on the head and he rolls his eyes. "Why do I even bother?" he mumbles.

By now, my eyes are as wide as saucers. "Oh, my god! You can talk!"

"Nothing gets by you, huh, sport?" He jumps up and rests his front paws on the side of the bed, allowing him to look me over. "Personally, I don't see why she's so infatuated with you. You don't look any different than the other crazies."

I feel my upper lip curl in anger. "I'm not crazy."

"And that's why you're tied to the bed, huh, fruit loop?" He drops back to the floor.

"I think he misses his toy," Del says and sits on the edge of the bed near my feet. "Um, it's a kitty cat with a squeaky belly. It squeaks when you push it. I miss it, too. That's why he's cranky."

"No, I'm _cranky_ because you've been missing for three weeks now. Every time we go to Disneyland, you disappear. We are definitely getting you a leash."

"You're mad at me, aren't you? The angry kind?" she asks in a small voice.

"You're damn right I am," he fumes and begins pacing. "You left me alone with no way to find you. And it's not like I could just ask anybody for help. I'm a dog, remember? So I tried some of your people. Do you know how hard it is trying to talk to them? Between rantings about the end of the world and ravings about potato chips that look like past presidents, I finally got a general idea of where you were. It wasn't until a couple weeks ago when this kid broke out that I knew for sure. So—"

"Hold it," I interrupt. "That can't be right. You said a couple of weeks when it's only been a couple of days."

He stops pacing and looks at me, head cocked slightly. "Kid, you've been all over the news for the past two weeks. It wasn't so much that a mental patient escaped that caught my attention, it was _how_ you escaped. The media claimed you just walked out. I don't care how poor this place claimed the security was, patients don't just walk out of institutions. Especially toting an eccentric young girl that no one has ever seen before that day." He stares pointedly at Del who entertains herself by batting at the pom-poms on her hat. "You've been on the lamb ever since."

I listen to all this with growing bewilderment. "But that can't be," I insist. "I may not be sure how much time has passed since I first woke up here, but I do know it hasn't been two weeks. It's impossible."

"Impossible? You do know you're talking to a dog, right? Believe me, when you're around her, there's no such thing as impossible."

"Then how did I lose two weeks?"

He comes back to the bed and jumps up like before, studying me. "You Traveled didn't you?" I stare at him, blankly. "Did something...unexpected...happen when you got out? Did you go somewhere?"

"Yeah," I answer slowly. "I went home. At least, I thought it was home. But then I found it's all a lie, that this is my home."

He nods his head. "That's Traveling, or at least, that's what I call it. You went to a place you thought existed but really doesn't. It was all in your head. A fantasy, hallucination, delusion, take your pick."

"The nurse said I have a delusional disorder," I murmur.

"There you go. It's not like you're alone, either. A lot of her people walk in this world but live in another. Society has labeled you crazy. I think you all just add a little flavor to the boring, everyday dry mix that we call life."

"But Del made it sound more like a personality disorder. She told me I—Robin is only a personality. So which is it? Delusional or personality disorder?"

"A little of A, a little of B. Since you're a minor, they don't want to call it a personality disorder. Apparently, only grown-ups get those. So you get to be delusional. Lucky you."

"So how does that explain my missing two weeks?"

"Traveling is a tricky thing. Depending on where you go, time is going to vary. You never come back exactly when you left. A day over there could be a week over here, or a month, or a year...you get the idea. In your case, however long you spent over there is equal to two weeks over here." He drops back to the floor. "I don't know how you humans do it, walking around on your hind legs all day. Mine are killing me."

"You can never get lost time back," Del tells me. "I know. I've tried. I really have. No matter where you look, it's gone. Poof! Like, um, magic. And stuff."

A lengthy pause ensues as I contemplate their words. The last traces of resistance vanish. "So that's it then. I guess we all achieved our goals. You two found each other and I found out the truth. So what happens now?"

"I have to put you back," Del says, satisfaction pursing her mouth. "I remembered. You have to go. Where I found you. In that other place. 'Cause you don't belong here. And maybe I can find you again. Like I found my doggie. Um, for a visit. Only later. Not now. 'Cept they're going to fix Dick. So prob'ly not. Oh, well."

"Actually, I found you, sweetie," Barnabas corrects her.

"What do you mean 'they're going to fix Dick'?" I ask. "What are they going to do to him? Does it involve the therapy Leslie spoke of?"

"He's gonna get shocks," Del answers, her voice hardening. "Lots and lots of 'em. For a long time. To make him better."

I look to the dog for understanding. "You know what electroconvulsive therapy is? Or electroshock?"

"Ooh, ooh, I do! Pick me!" Del begs with her arm waving in the air like a child in school. Barnabas gives her a nod of approval and she lowers her arm. "Um, shocks is when ziggy-zaggy bolts run through your mind all willy-nilly. Really fast. Zoom! It used to make you do the hurty dance, 'cept now you go to my brother's place so it's not so hurty. And you don't remember any of it. Or anything else. When you wake up. Oh, and it leaves your hair sticky and greasy."

"Close enough. That's what Dick's gonna go through for the next, oh, say, six weeks," Barnabas finishes.

"But I thought that was only for depressed people?" I ask.

"Desperate times, kid. But don't worry, it's not like the Hollywood version. Like Del said, Dick'll go to dreamland first so he won't feel a thing."

"What about me? Will I feel anything?"

"Nah. You'll be back in your own little world, doing whatever it is you do. What do you do?"

"I was a hero. At least, I thought I was. But I guess that doesn't matter anymore." I lean back and look up at the ceiling. "None of it's true. So what's the point in going back?"

"The point is that you don't die, you're just forgotten." I look at him questioningly and he continues. "Side affect of electroshock is memory loss. Usually short term, but not in this case. The bridge between these two worlds that you know of is going to be severed so that you can never return. With a little help from Del, Dick is going to forget about you and anything ever involving you, and, likewise, you will forget him. She'll make it so your world keeps turning somewhere deep within Dick. Life as you knew it before this little adventure will continue and you will be none the wiser while Dick is going to have to be rebuilt. He'll have to be reeducated, reintroduced to friends and family, and eventually, returned to the real world as a somewhat normal person. Everybody wins."

"What if I don't go back?"

"Then you die a very slow, horrible, and painful death. I recommend going back. What about you, Del?"

"What about me?" she asks distractedly. I look over and find her watching what appear to be gummi bears performing tricks on the edge of the bed. She begins clapping and cheering when a red one flips up and lands on her knee.

"Do you think Robin should go home or stay here and die?" he asks her.

"Um, go home. Definitely. 'Cause home is happy. Home is where your...something is. Something good. And maybe fluffy? Your bed? Fluffy beds are good. 'Specially for jumping on. Dying isn't fluffy so it can't be good. 'Cept you'll see my sister. Unless it's her day off."

"Well, kid, that's two votes for going home. _For living_. Easy answer here. Do I even need to ask what yours is?"

He's right, it is an easy answer. "I'll stay."

The dog's jaw literally drops open. "Gotta say, I wasn't expecting that. Forgive the irony, but, are you crazy? You're going to die."

"At least Dick won't have to worry about me coming back," I reply sharply. "The lies will finally be over. Besides, someone told me that something that isn't born can't die."

"Doesn't mean you can't feel pain. Lots of it. Pain way beyond the 'R' rating in movies. Only through experience is it able to be truly understood. Until there is nothing left of you within Dick's mind."

"I thought you said I wouldn't feel anything?"

"That's only if you go back. If you stay, you will feel everything. First hand."

"I don't understand."

He sighs. "It's complicated. From what I understand, the body you inhabit is not yours. It's Dick's. You may have control of it at the moment, but that doesn't mean it's yours."

"You're making it sound like I possessed Dick. Like I need to be exorcised or something," I joke.

"I told you, it's complicated. This isn't exactly an everyday situation, you know. Besides, most of this info comes from her, and we both know how reliable she is. Now, no more interruptions.

"Dick's gonna be given a buffet of drugs powerful enough to knock him out and make him more limp than a cooked noodle so the therapy will be as painless as possible. You, on the other hand, will somehow remain conscious. Don't ask me how, you just are.

"Now, electroshock is a therapy that messes with the mind. Something about the chemicals you got up there getting shifted around by the electricity they send through you. Since you reside in the mind, you're going to feel it all. It will last for only a few seconds, but it will hurt like hell. And it will be nothing compared to what you'll feel during the grand mal seizure.

"Think of the worst torture you can imagine. Think of having to go through that about three times a week for roughly six weeks, probably less, because there's no way you're going to hold out. If you're not going back because you think you can beat this thing, think again. You can't. This is why I strongly encourage you to go back."

I clench my hands to keep them from shaking. "How do you know so much about this?"

"'Cause I told him," Del whispers, head bowed, her little friends having disappeared. "I've felt it. And it's horrible. And scary. You're not the first. But you are one of mine. What you see, I see. What you feel, I feel. When you hurt, I hurt." She looks at me with matching green eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Please, don't die, Robin. Not like this. It will be very hurty. Very, very, um, very hurty. More hurty than this is. For me. And I can send you back. Safe. Then you don't have to die. You don't have to remember. Life will be happy. 'Cause you'll live. And I'll be happy that you're happy."

I sigh and shake my head regretfully. "I can't Del." With a moan of distress, she turns away. "It's time I stopped embracing the lie and let Dick have his life back," I continue. "It's for the best."

Barnabas gives a low growl. "Who are you trying to fool? Us or yourself? Putting up this big hero act. 'It's for the best.' Bull."

I lift my head and glare at him. "What do you know? You're just a dog, for crying out loud. I don't have to prove anything to you." I turn my head away to glare at the opposite wall.

He gives another growl. "This is beyond idiotic. You want to die? Fine. Come on, Del, let's go."

I feel the bed shift, assuming Del's leaving, but instead she moves further up the bed, closer to me. She undoes one of my restraints and holds my now free hand between her own. "I only wanted to do something nice. Was it? Nice?"

I look to her sorrowful once again mismatched eyes, tears still flowing freely, and give her a small smile. "It was very nice. Good-bye, Del. And thank you."

She leans in, kisses me lightly on the cheek, and whispers in my ear, "Dick may forget. But I won't. Um, not always. Just sometimes. Most of the times. But not all of them." She gives me a quick hug and moves over to Barnabas, placing a hand on his head. She waves at me sadly as they fade away, leaving no sign that they were ever here.

I lie back and close my eyes, trying to make my mind go blank. The more I think about it, the more afraid I become, though I'm too proud to admit it to anyone. I hear a rustling of clothing and turn to the door to find Leslie watching me. She's dressed like a doctor prepared to perform an operation, wearing navy blue scrubs with a surgical mask hanging around her neck.

"Are you ready, Robin?" she asks softly.

_It's for the best, it's for the best, it's for the best._ "Yeah," I answer raspingly. "As ready as I'm going to be. I've already said my good-byes. It's time."

_**...One year later...**_

"You ready to go home, Dick?"

I look up from my drawings to find a tall, dark-haired man standing in my doorway. He seems so familiar. I'm sure I know him, yet his name eludes me.

"Bruce," he supplies.

I stare at him a moment longer. "Right," I mumble, giving him an awkward smile, and return to my drawings. I hear him come into the room and stop beside my bed. Quickly, I shut the sketchbook that sits in my lap. I swing my legs over the other side of the bed, facing the wall.

"What's wrong, Dick?"

I sigh. "I'm not ready. I don't think I should leave."

He walks around the bed and sits beside me. "Why's that?"

"It's just...it's not right. I'm not right. I can't even remember your name, and you're supposed to be the closest thing I have to a family. I need more time to heal, to get my memories back. To remember what my life was like before I got sick. To remember friends and family. To just remember."

"But you can do that at home. You'll be surrounded by familiar people and items that could help jog your memory. Maybe even speed up the healing process."

"But what if I get sick again?"

"You've been cured now for more than half a year. The treatment was a complete success. You're not...delusional...anymore, so you don't need to stay here. Leslie and I agree that it's time for you to come home. Okay?"

Knowing I can't win this argument, I nod my head silently and he pats my leg reassuringly as he stands up. "Good. I just have to see Leslie before we leave. I'm sure you have some good-byes to get out of the way, so I'll meet you back here in ten minutes. And, Dick?" I look up wearily. "It's going to be all right. I promise."

He leaves me alone and I just sit here, staring at the blank wall, wasting time. There's no one to say good-bye to because I can't remember having any friends here. There was one dark-haired girl I vaguely remember, but she seemed too creepy for my tastes. Not that I can remember what my tastes were before this incident. Whatever this incident was.

I know I was sick. I had a delusional disorder. What those delusions were, though, is a mystery. The therapy wiped out all my memories of them. And a lot of other memories. Bruce and Leslie won't tell me what the delusions were for fear it might trigger something in my mind that will bring them back. I keep telling myself it's for the best.

I slowly stand up, straightening my T-shirt and jeans, and grab my backpack and sketchbook. I look around, unsure about how I should feel about leaving. Relief? Or remorse?

I make my way to the door when I hear some loose pages from my book fall to the floor. I turn back, gather them up, and stuff them back in, when one of them catches my eye. I don't recall drawing it. This really shouldn't surprise me, but it does.

It's me. Well, me if I were a cartoon. And a superhero. I can tell this last part by the costume he wears. The drawing is done in pencil, but somehow I know the outfit should be red, yellow, and green. The drawing cuts him off at the knees, but I know he wears steel-toed black boots.

He looks angry. A shiver of panic runs through me. He glares at me through his mask, mouth open in mid-yell, fists raised like he's pounding against the paper, trying to break through to get to this world. I feel my heart thumping madly. What does it mean? Why would I draw this?

"Dick?"

I look up to find Bruce has returned. "Alfred's waiting with the car. You ready?"

I quickly stuff the drawing in my book and stand up, giving Bruce a false smile. "Yeah. Let's go home."


End file.
